Hear No Evil
by Early
Summary: Set in MegaMorphs3The morning after their fateful meeting with Elfangor, the team separately prepares for a war they cannot fathom. AN: The animorphs come in at Chap. 5.
1. Retirement Plans and Fetal Cadavers

With my newest chapter update, I have also edited my previous chapters.

Changes made: Changed words consisting of all capital letters to simply italics. Condensed smaller chapters together to create a couple big chapters with two "parts". Fixed spelling and removed the old reviewer responses.

* * *

Hear No Evil . . .(1)

* * *

**PART ONE: **_Retirement Plans and Fetal Cadavers_

He checked the clipboard one last time.

This was supposed to be the hard part for most doctors.

_Most_doctors.

Behind the soundproof glass, with the parents staring hopefully at his back, he practiced his speach.

Should I be kind this time, or lay it on thick? Really draw it out?

The clipboard held no answers

Name: Feltman, infant (un-specified)  
Sex: Male  
Status: Deceased  
Condit: Unrepairable Handicap  
Mother: Feltman, Regina May  
Father: Feltman, Jonathon Timothy  
DoD: consequential

He smirked as he perused the father's profile, handily in a folder nearby. Jewish last name and completely Anglo-Saxon first name. Hmmph. Ridiculous. They think that giving themour names makes them equal?

"Damn Jews . . ." He muttered.

Unsurprisingly, the child in the crib did not stir at this curse.

Well, never hurts to be sure.

He crept up to the baby again, clapping his hands loudly and yelling in the infant's ear.

He watched carefully. The last thing the hospital needed was another lawsuit. The punishments for "Unlawful Denial of Male Heir to Household" were staggering nowadays. Change . . . he hated it.

He smiled at the child, slumbering peacefully.

"Name: my little nest egg." he whispered.

Wiping the smile off his face, he proceeded into the waiting room.

Every time, it's gets better. The parents, searching his eyes for the blow before delivered. The quiet falling over the other patients, bored of their "Your Faith" and "Emerging Warfare Technology's" magazines. By law, placed in every high-financial place of business, such as this. Now the other patients leaned to overhear this mother's tragedy.

He had front row seat.

The man stood stiffly. "Doctor . . ." his voice trailed off.

"Sir, I afraid your son shall be classified as 'handicapped.' He is completely-"

The sudden wail of the mother cut him off.

The man looked embarrassed. "Now, Regina compose yourself!"

She shook her head back and forth manically. "I tried this time! I did! Please John!"

He grabbed her arm and shook her violently. "Get a hold of yourself, damnnit! Or I'll take care of your bawling myself!"

The mother stifled and silenced.

The doctor smiled condescendingly at the mother. The father, flustered, tried to apologize.

"Doctor, she don't know better. Just a little frazzled, seeing it's been ten years trying andthis woman don't know better than to pop out females, left and right!" He said the word "females" with a sneer. "I was just looking forward to having an heir. Ain't gettin' younger, Doc." he chuckled. He looked tersely at his shaking wife, daring her with his eyes.

"Well, then," Doctor Standish continued quickly, "As I was saying, the boy is completely deaf. You should know, the New York Handicapped Human Product Act of 1982 clearly states: "Any government health care provider who freely-"

The man cut the speech with a wave of his hand. "Don't you worry about it, I know your rights."

"Then you also know that you will not be billed for this consultation as compensation?"

The man just turned and lead his whimpering wife out the door.

Doctor Standish was disappointed, to say the least.

Oh well, I'll crack the next father. he thought.

He motioned a nearby Aide to push the crib in the direction of his office.

Behind his desk, alone again. He considered the child for a moment before retrieving the  
paperwork from his desk drawer.

He slapped the "Handicapped Slave Procurement for Private Ownership form" onto the desktop.

So many deals, called upon favors, money slipping hand to hand.

With this one, it was eight children.

Sixteen parents were told their children were being kept . . . and eight notices of Fetal DeathSyndrome were sent to the accounting floor.

This was actually quite common in the Americas. While frowned upon, as underage mating was, and illegal, again like underage mating, no one really noticed or cared.

As Russia had the coal trade, the Colonies of India had the Black Market . . . The Americas and China had the slave trade.

Well, at least he was quazi-compassionate. China had such an over-population, children there were usuallyintentionally handicapped to insure legal sale in other countries. While China had the sale of Legally Fit Citizens, Unfit Citizens sold better in other countries. Less chance of escape, you see.

There was three classifications in the Neo-American Slave Trade:

1. Fit: This is a captured human. Prisoners hoping to work off sentences, captured Savages, or  
illegally sold Chinese. The last beinghighly dangerous to maintain.

2. Retarded: These slaves are sold to laboratory's and NBC(Nuclear, Biological, Chemical)  
Military Testing centers. Obviously, too mentally or physically disabled to perform strenuous or  
even mundane tasks. These, quite fairly sell for less than:

3. UnFit Citizens: These are Americans who, through accident or birth, become, or are  
born, handicapped. Their handicaps are far too severe for them to be placed in polite society.

As a service, the government provides low or noincome hospitals. Not out of the grand  
kindness of their hearts, but because of all the people in America, the poorest were the sickest.  
And the believed most unable to refrain from sexual intercourse until marriage. This made them  
patsies.

With sickness rampant in the Ghetto, studies showed that the most UnFit Citizens could be found  
here.

Not even born yet, and they were targeted.

But with everyone so distracted by the most recent war, no one had seemed to notice a few very small black bags labeled "Cadaver: Fetal" just not show up.

The hospital pays for slaves, they get empty bags.

Dr. Standish had been storing his new arrivals in a trap door under his home. An old bunker from the Russo-American war.

It's all about where the stock goes. Someday you're up, some days you're down, He thought to himself.

He peered at the baby again. "It's all about guess-work, Ears!" the nickname popped into his head suddenly. "Everyone wants thedumb slaves! Why? Fear of rebellion? There hasn't been a free state in the Americas since the crash of '32!"

He jumped from his desk, shooting up like a rocket, full of exuberant energy. "The future, my young Ears, is in intelligent slaves. Trained slaves. And that's where I come in. Right now, all I have is a basement full of babies, but in fourteen years, I'll have my retirement!"

He stopped pacing and looked at his hands. "What am I doing? I'm talking to a baby. Baby's can't understand." He blinked. "Let alone, deaf ones."

His pacing eventually brought him back to his chair. Slumping down into it, he slid the form aside and pulled from his jacket "The Little Pocket-Book of Baby Names."

"Hmmph. Let's see now. Iwould like to stick to tradition . . ."

"Now, I'm partial to Ears as a nickname, but I can't very well sell a slave named "Ears" a decade from now." He flipped through the book until he reached the "E" section and smiled when he found his prize.

"Why hello, Ethan."

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (2)

* * *

**PART TWO: **_Red Trucks and Cement_

Ethan took one desperate, final pull off the machine.

Breathe . . . One . . . two . . . three . . .

He released the bar and collapsed in exaustion, actually rolling off the bench and onto the floor.

He felt a tapping on his shoulder and weakly batted away the offending finger. The person grabbed his arms and turned him over so he was now on his back. As he turned, faces came into view, blocking the dreary, steel-beam infested ceiling of the warehouse. His home.

Michelle spoke up,or didn't, rather, saying as she was mute.

Ethan, are you all right, she mouthed.

He flashed his hand-speak at her.

Cupping both hands in front of him and pulling them inward . . . thumbing at his chest . . . holding up his index finger . . . placing both fists together, thumb to thumb, extending the fingers quickly then closing them.

She nodded.

Okay, you hurry. Boss is coming today. Gotta look your best.

He signed again: He not go here in two week-S. He not go here now.

She and a few concerned others wandered away.

He took the moment to examine his surroundings. The warehouse, his home for the past ten years or maybe more, had no inner walls, no privacy, no electric light. Not that a slave worried of these things.

He had once looked at himself in a shiney piece of the roof that had fallen one day. How old was he? He had counted ten years at the warehouse, but remembered a time before. In a house, learning the alphabet and running errands for Boss. Back in the time when they used to call him "Doc". How old would he have had to have been to learn his letters and cook breakfast? Five? Six maybe? Geeze, he didn't even know his own birthday.

All around him, his brothers and sisters were working. Some jogging in place, some warming up with cardio-vascular, but most, like him, were tackling the large weight machines. The Boss insisted on it. Which seemed like a pretty dumb idea to Ethan.

While endurance was a fine thing to have, most masters-to-be were fooled by the mass and bulk of a slave, automatically assuming "the bigger, the better." More informedinvestersknew that the larger slaves were more powerful but didn't last as long as the lean, muscular ones.

Ethan was no beast in size, but he could do ninty-four pushups in a row, jogfive miles, and then stand all day in the hot sun with low water consumption and still not collapse from heat exaustion. All of these feats near to impossible for the generically average handicapped  
slave.

A cloud shifted in the sky, allowing the sun to peak through the broken windows. One particularbeam landing directly in his eyes. Which wouldn't have been a problem if he were Benny, but unfortunately he was deaf not blind.

Annoyed, he rolled away from the light and slowly clambered to his feet. He checked the clock on the wall.

0756

Hmmm. Still four minutes of P.T. left. He glanced at the schedule next to the clock. It was a chalkboard with plastic strips running across it, acting as event dividers. It was old, grimy and showing some serious wear and tear.

Much like everything else in this place. Including him.

First Formation 0545-0600  
Physical Training 0600-0800  
Food 0800-0810  
Class One(Trade) 0810-1200  
Class Two(Math VII) 1200-1400  
Class Three(General)1400-1600  
Food 1600-1610  
Job 1610-?  
Food ?-?  
Free-Time ?-1900  
Sleep 1900-0530

He smiled. To the envy of his brothers, he had been assigned a trade that allowed him to be outside all morning. He had been learning the nuances of masonry and general engineering from a "friend" of the Boss's.

The Boss was very tight-lipped about operations around here.

Of course, most people that can hear seem to assume that if they're out of hearing range, theconversation is private. After ease-dropping on a few conversations, Ethan lip-read from the Boss and was able to report back a few facts to his siblings.

The slave trade had become a serious political platform as of late. No, not abolitionists versus slave-holders, but laborer versus employer. The Labor Unionist Party (aka "Laborers") had accused slaves of stealing citizens jobs. An employer could buy a slave, instead of hiring a laborer, and in a few months the slave pays for itself. A new and extremely controversial law was passed giving rights of slave ownershiponly to the Government and Private Slave Holders. Corporations could no longer hire slaves.

Aparently, the Boss gave out his kids as free laborers every day. The various employers would simply write them off the books. Instead of pay to the Boss, however, they used the slaves as apprentices teaching them the profession.

Also, some heated arguments had been flaring lately between the Boss and a man who spoke to him regularly. The slaves pieced together snatches of conversation and peeked-at documentsto determine this man must be giving loans to Boss. The Eggs called him "Shark" because of hisprofession and the killer glint in his eye.

Ethan's train of thought was disrupted when he noticed the others suddenly breaking from their various activities and converging at the table in the corner.

The buzzer must have sounded, signaling a change in the shifts. He jogged over to the table, tapping Dougie on the way.

He gulped down his glass of water and grabbed his bagel on the go. Joe was awfully mad when Ethan showed up late.

Mad enough to punish him without asking Boss's permission first.

He raced out the open side-door of the warehouse into the bare patch of dirt used as a parking lot.

"Well, hop in already!" Joe yelled out the window. Ethan "hopped" into the cab of the truck and Joe pulled out.

Four hours on the worksite, and four more to go. While the schedule outlined general times, it really differed from slave-to-slave depending on trades assigned. So far, Ethan had learned gardening, landscaping, wilderness survival, hunting, fishing and was now almost finished in masonry. The idea being that he would be an outdoors slave who worked the lawns, could be taken on hunting and camping trips and also could build fountains, ponds and other large masonry projects. If the buyer was smart, they would use this resource to save on some serious cash.

Today, Ethan was working the cement mixer on a simple paving job. The company he worked for was setting up a patterned walkway from the driveway to the front door.

The cement mixer reminded Ethan of some pictures he had seen in a magazine once. In the photo, muddy Primitives of the South American Humid-Lands were gathered around a fire, staring at an unidentifiable animal roasting on a spit. He knew this was a fake photo. Just pro-war propoganda. If the citizen's enemy was thatbackwards, they would not have survived, resisted and killed so many soldiers.

The cement mixer was, if put VERY simply, two thick poles with a bell swinging between. On the left pole, a large lever for tipping the bell down and releasing the contents. On the right, a series of pulleys and gears which rotated the bell, mixing the cement.

Ethan pushed the large wheelbarrow under the bell. He released the safety lockor "oops switch" as the laborers called it. Then used the lever to tip it slowly forward. Joe always kept him in back jobs such as this. If the laborers knew that the new kid who "don't talk much, but 'e's an okay guy" was actually a slave? He would probably be lynched on the spot.

He shivered at the thought.

When the wheelbarrow was completely filled, he pulled up on the lever and snapped the bell back to it's upright position. Distractedly, he pondered the intelligence of Boss. Why did the man continue this way knowing how heated things were getting. Wouldn't it be safer to just sell us now? Before laws change even more?

As he grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and began to muscle his heavy load uphill towards the house, he felt a hard vibration in the ground.

Oh no, please no.

Slowly, he lowered the handles and turned around.

Of course. He had forgotten to flip the safety.

The bell swung from it's pivot back and forth, like a church bell. Underneath, a half-hour's hard work, puddled on the ground and flowing downhill into the street, like a slow muddy river.

He stood there.

Just watch the cement pour.

There was nothing to do now.

Just wait for it.

SLAM!

The pain reverberated through his body, down to the marrow in his bones.

Joe had come out nowhere, the shock increasing the pain, somewhat.

The hand gripping his hair forced his head downward again.

SLAM!

Ethan assumed Joe was yelling and cursing incoherantly, but he couldn't be sure, unless he was looking right at his face.

Blurrily, he noticed the blood stain on the back of the truck and a small, vaguely Ethan-shaped dent underneath.

As his head came down again, it was if something snapped in his brain. Or maybe in his inner ear, according to that year of Biology he was given in 1998. Up became down and the world spun around his head, interrupted by flashes of light. Grass, truck and sun all became one mass of dazed color.

Ethan almost smiled, watching the dent rush towards him, as if the truck was backing up into his skull.

He felt a rumbling in the lower part of his throat and knew that for the first time in his life, he was laughing out loud.

A wetness trickled from his hairline, down his chin and neck, staining his shirt.

Blood.

Maybe he'll kill me this time. That would be great.

He felt a light CRUNCH from somewhere in his body, that made him stop laughing with a sharp grunt of pain, and the world grew slightly dimmer. The sun wasn't as stingingly bright. The grass became a faded green. The pale yellow truck was completely grey.

All except the bloodstain. It was even brighter. And in the pale hue of the sun, it seemed to refect light that wasn't even there. No longer a smuge but now a laden pool, dripping down the truck.

He wondered if someone could lose that much blood and survive. Or if he was just imagining the red rivulets, tearing down the back end.

With a start, he realized he was no longer feeling pain.

Ethan's muscles relaxed one-by-one as he sank to the ground, feeling the numb THUD as Joe kicked him in the ribs, while still in mid-fall. Like a drop-kicked soccerball.

How can you kick a man when he's down? he asked no one in particular.

Hard to believe in God.

He answered himself before he lost consciousness. Or who knows, maybe it _was _God.

Who says you're a man?

Ethan's last feeling, before the lights went out, was of relief. Maybe he was dead.

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Endof Chapter 1

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BEHIND THE SCENES: What Ethan said in the warehouse was: "Give me one moment". No, it is not  
American sign language. I believe that the slaves would be so disorganized that they would NOT  
have a universal sign language. So I sorta created my own sign language that would make sense  
to Ethan and the other slaves. Or I just didn't feel like learning sign language. 


	2. Precognant Dreams and Repo Men

Continuing with the updates, chapters three and four have been merged to cutback on tedious clicking.

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (2)

* * *

**PART THREE: **_Precognant Dreams and Repo Men _

There was always one place where Ethan could hear. Every night in his dreams, he heard the voices of the children. Wind blowing against his ears. Someone hadonce told him that people could here the wind blow. He thought this was ridiculous. If you could hear the wind, why not the sun or the stars? What next? "Hey Ethan, you know I can hear my heart pumping? It's true!"

But his dreams didn't know better. They called to Ethan's need for sound. Any sound.

Whenever he was speaking to one of his siblings, though none of them were actually related, he would insist on placing his hand against their throat and feeling the vibrations.

Now, he could hear.

_He was on a large, cement platau. Miles above the Earth, floating in midair. Surrounded by other slaves, easily identified by their choice of clothing. Well, that and the fact that none of them spoke._

_In the center of this mob he stood. Silent, as the rest._

_After what seemed like an eternity, the crowd spoke up, as one voice. All their lips moved in unison._

_"Are you going to do something?"_

_Ethan raised his hands to respond. As he did, a low humming sound rose from his chest and through his throat. He began his signs,to noticethat every sign made a new sound. His lips were moving, manipulating the sound into words, just as he read lips. He was talking._

_This no longer suprised Ethan. He had been here a hundred times before. He practically knew all the faces here by heart, though never meeting them personally and surmising they probably only existed in his imagination anyways._

_He tried a different approach this time._

_"Why should I do something? You are many and you're just standing there."_

_This took the crowd aback. But only for a moment._

_"You are not like us. We have been driven down. You have been risen up."_

_Angrily, he pulled at his shirt to take it off. The material in his dream was to weak for this abuse and tore away, instead._

_"Risen up? Risen up! You sadist bastards! Leave my mind alone! I'm as low as you." He pointed a finger at them accusingly. "I've been waiting for you to 'rise up'. To do SOMETHING. Now, as you have a billion times before, you tell me I'm already there!"_

_The crowd did not respond to the sight of his scarred back and chest from whip and cudgel. The slices down his arm made by sharp wires._

_They shook their head solemnly. "No, you are not like us."_

_A panel of cement, just before his feet, began to glow. It's edges sparked and beamed so bright, he had to cover his eyes. The crowd was unaffected._

_This was new._

_Slowly, the glow died down. Where there was once a small block of cement, there lay a book._

_Still cautiously staring at the mob, he bent down and gingerly scooped it up._

_He stole a peek at the title. The titlecarried ontoevery inch of the cover and blurred when he tried to concentrate on one word. From his observations, the general idea he got was that the title was made up of all the knowledge he had aquired in his life. "Biology, economics, debate, charm, willpower, honor, history, compassion . . ." The list went on._

_"You are not like us. You are risen."_

Then he woke up.

Gathered around their bunks at free time, each couldn't help peeking at the recessed cot in the corner. Traditionally, this cot was for anyone who was sick or injured.

So far, it had been a week since Joe had brought him back. Had had simply dropped his leaden body in the dirt of the parking lot. Still bleeding and unconscious, Ethan was picked up and toted back to the cot. Seanathon, the oldest of the group, immeadiately called the Boss. This was something Candice's medical skills could not handle.

Carting a load of sharp and nasty-looking instruments, the Boss stormed through building shouting orders.

"Somebody get his feet! No, not you, Benny, you'll probably walk him into a wall! Careful with him, get him on the table! James! Grab the road light from my car!"

Working for four hours straight, he had Ethan's clothing carefully cut off, so as not to further disturb anything broken. He inspected the body and counted the injuries quietly.

"Possible concussion, laceration above the left eye, maybe some nerve damage to his eyelid and brow. Shit! Yup, that's a broken rib, all right. Dumbass little Jew." he muttered, carefully masking the concern and fear he felt, covering it with anger. "What the hell did you get yourself into? He could have killed you and there would be nothing I could do, because you technically don't exist! God DAMN it, Ears." He yelled aloud, while pulling the third stitch through Ethan's brow.

Ethan's eyes fluttered open. His lips began moving, but uttering no sound.

"What did you say?" The Boss asked quickly.

Ethan swallowed and made the vibrations in his throat more violent.

"I tippeth da bell. Pourth da thement eferywhere."

The Boss sighed, "You have got to be the dumbest slave in the world. Or at least the dumbest teenager, which is hard to come by. My god, fourteen years old, and you can't even hold the damn what's-it-called up! No wonder Joe beat the shit outta you!" He snapped the thread and began another stitch. "Now hold still . . ."

Ethan closed his eyes and smiled.

"Hey, Ethan! Up and about, I see."

He waved to Harrold and signed. -Arm hurt most, Leg hurt better, head hurt worse.-

Seeing Harry laugh, he slowly paced away, towards the machines.

Flipping the lever to the second lowest setting, he sank into the metal chair and grabbed both looped ropes. He was about to pull them downwards, lifting the weights, when the main doors of the barn burst open.

Shark was leading a group of repo men and Citizen-Police over towards the middle of the room. Four soldiers stayed behind to block the entrace. Six others were carrying bundles of chains and shackles.

Behind the door guards, he could see Boss peering over their shoulder. He read the Boss's lips.

Let me in, damnit! You're supposed to keep them from getting out, not stop me from entering. I just want to make sure they don't take my records and trash my damn office!

Hesitantly, they separated long enough for Boss to race in and stand in the center of the PT mats.

"Everybody, over here! Hurry!" The slaves, confused as ever, gathered around Boss. Those who were deaf or hard-of-hearing swarmed to his front, to read his lips.

"All right, here's the situation: I'm broke. There's no other way to put it." he shook his head. "I was greedy. I should have sold you years ago. Would'a made a fortune too. Too damn greedy, I just couldn't bear to get rid of you. I wanted to keep my . . . my children."

He paused a moment and took a deep breath. "They're going to take you now. I just ran in to tell you one thing. To warn you, rather. People are getting scared. No one wants intelligent slaves anymore. Ever since the Spanish colonies banned slavery, everyone's afraid of revolts and runaways. My advice is to play it dumb. You CAN'T read, write or employ mathematics. Do you understand? Don't screw this up! While being able to read and write is fine now, you don't know how the laws will change and I think-"

He stopped in mid-sentence, as the police began cuffing the children.

Ethan felt the shackles clamp around his legs and arms, hampering his movement. A rifle pointed at his face, beconing him towards the door. He stumbled a bit as he turned around.

"Hey, I think this one's injured! We may have to cut him from the list."

List? Seeing the panic on Boss's face he quickly surmised that this was not a good thing. He sucked up a quick breath and walked purposefully towards the door. Willing himself not to limp. Praying they would assume the scar on his forehead was just a laceration, not the slight skull fracture it really was.

He noticed a very self-important soldier speaking to Shark as he scuffled his way out the door.

No, Sir. You don't get to keep the human product. They will be sold in Government Auction and the proceeds will be split between you and the Lower Adjucts of the North American Empire.

"What? That's a crock of shit. He owes me the money and it'syour job to help me collect it!"

The soldier gritted his teeth. "-And half the proceeds count as payment for government services rendered and tax . . . unless of course, you wished to shirk your duty as a citizen. You know, tax evasionis punishable by death, now."

"Well, no I wasn't saying that at all. I just meant that-"

Ethan's line of sight was cut off as he was pushed through into the light of morning.

Four Jeeps awaited with doors wide open. Just enough room for the eighteen slaves. He found his spot on the floor, with the others, and watched the doors of the back end slam shut.

He quickly told the others what he had "overheard". They were going to the auction blocks.

The transports were hot and crowded. And although Ethan had never even seen troops before, he knewthe trucks smelt like the army. Canvas, leather and mildew. Sand and grit in every corner.

Hell, the garden he kept three years ago was less uncomfortable than this.

Still, through some glorious miracle he fell asleep, his head falling back into Michelle's lap.

_Again, the platau. Only . . . different._

_He racked his memory. What was wrong. His toes wriggled in the wet grass underfoot. No cement? The crowd was not there. Now, only twelve people stood before him._

_A tall, blue-eyed blonde girl. The very definition of Arayan beauty. She had a bored expression on her face._

_Beside her, a girl that looked amost her exact double . . . no, it was her exact double. In fact, the twelve were actual six . . . and their twins?_

_Ethan confusedly took stock of this new crowd._

_The blonde twins: One healthy, beautiful and completely unimpressed by her odd surroundings. The other had a dazed, drugged expression on her face. She stared blankly into space, much as a blind UnFit would. Her hair was bedraggled and mangy. As was her attire._

_Smirking, a short hispanic boy. His twin . . . a smirking, short hispanic boy. Oookay._

_As he turned his head to look at the next pair, a large pair of guys, he noticed a blue blur in his perephial vision._

_He scanned left, but it was too fast. Whenever he tried to look at it directly, it moved to his left, until he was turning in circles. As he gave up, he realized that if he just looked at it out of the corner of his eye, without moving his pupils, it remained completely still._

_A flash of white appeared in the now vaguely man shaped blue sillouette. As the blueman remained still, the white fluttered towards him unsteadily like a bird with a broken wing. Quickly, as it was about to smack him in the head, he snatched it in mid-air._

_A white triangle cloth. A bandana. No, not completely white. He thought, examining it further._

_There was a small tribal design on the front. Inprinted in a gray so light and faded, it was barely visable._

_The Blueman jumped in front of him suddenly. Is was enough to send Ethan reeling back, almost over the edge. He would have gone careening into the mountains below, if not for one of the twins._

_A short black person. "Person" because their form wasn't clear and sharp as the others, but blurred and mismatched. When he tried to look at any certain feature of their body, it only served to blur them more._

_Struggling, the person pulled him away from the edge._

_"Ethan, you are risen."_

A sharp kick to the side awaited him as he awoke. Still in the truck.

The repo-man man talked to him very slowly. "Hey. Dumbass. It's. Time. To. Go."

_Oh yeah, I'm risen all right,_ Ethan thought sarcastically.

* * *

Hear No Evil . . .(2.5)

* * *

**PART FOUR: **_Ashes and Elevation_

Ethan stepped out into the hot sun, blinking furiously after hours in the opaque darkness of the truck. They were in a parking lot outside of a large, sanitized-looking brick building. The sign over the doors proclaimed, "Human Product Processing Center."

A large chimney belched disgusting black smoke into the air. About twenty feet in circumference, by his estimation.

Just where the hell am I?

Under the watchful eyes of armed guards, the chains and shackles were removed, and they were escorted through the doors.

Inside, a clean, sterile hall, with small doors on each side. The hall ended in a large room with a pair of steel elevator doors on the right.

"Get in the waiting room! No sitting, no leaning on walls, no talking. You will be taken into an examination room one-by-one. If you resist, we take the elevators to the third floor. You get a quick trip to hell, with the rest of the retards."

Ethan stood in line with the others, waiting his turn. No one who entered the rooms came back and he was beginning to worry. On the other hand, he hadn't seen anyone go to the elevators either.

On his turn, he was grabbed by the arm and propelled through a small, blue door. Within, a flat wooden table. A large metal door led out the back. Medical instruments lined the walls and a chart of the human body lay on the floor, tape still attached to its backing.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him.

The guard mouthed slowly. "Take. Off. Your. Clothes . . . Wait. On. The. Table."

He pushed Ethan in, slamming the door behind him. Ethan tried the latch. Locked. He raced to the back of the room to try the other door. A door with . . . no handle?

He examined the door carefully, noticing a large slot in the side with two lights, green and red. The red light was currently activated.

Great.

He stripped off his clothes, being very careful not to agitate his healing wounds and red, angry sunburn.

He waited.

And waited.

Finally, he felt a rush of air behind him. Ethan whipped around in time to see the light turn green and a youngish-looking officer step through. He had the typical stethoscope around his neck and a lab coat wrapped around his gray- and black-trimmed uniform. On his collar, the brilliant flash of double lightning epaulets. The uniform of the SS.

He peered at his clipboard as he absentmindedly slammed the door behind him. Pacing around to Ethan's side of the table, he noticed the diagram lying on the floor.

Damnit, not again, he cursed as he picked up the poster and slapped it back onto the wall. He stepped in front of Ethan, looking back and forth between him and the clipboard.

Hmm. Well, you look fit. It's all a matter of psyche and those nasty-looking scars of yours. They look pretty fresh. Wanna tell me how you got them?

Ethan shivered slightly. SS, masters of interrogation . . . and torture. Everyone had heard the stories, even Ethan, despite how isolated the Boss had tried to keep his eggs.

He'd better bereal smart, realfast. Or real stupid, rather.

"Well, what were they from? The doctor hesitated. Were you . . . punished?"

"No, thir. It happened in a fight, thir."

"A fight? With whom?"

"Thlave, thir. They jumpet me. Hit me on the head with a hoe, thir."

The doctor smiled kindly. "And why would one of your kind hit you?"

"He wath a runaway, thir. Notmy kind. I tried to thop him."

The doctor blinked, confused. "You tried to stop someone from escaping?"

"Thlaves must know their place. He tried to run away. Master say, 'Thop him,' I thop him."

"One of the others outside?" The officer narrowed his eyes.

"No thir! They know better. He was from another plathe. He ran to where we work."

This took the doctor aback. This was either the most loyal and perfect slave he had ever seen, or the smartest.

"Just who the hell do you think you're talking to?" The officer stared Ethan down menacingly.

This was how the game was played.

"Thir, I-"

"You think you're talking to another retard? I have two tricks for every one you pull out of your ass. I find your little act insulting."

Ethan was silent for a moment.

The officer jotted something down on the pad, carefully setting it on the table next to Ethan and walked to the back door. Pulling an ID card from his pocket and quickly swiping it through the slot, the officer's back was conveniently turned away.

Ethan craned his neck and peered at the officer's stylish handwriting.

"Insurrectionist. Set for elimination. Proceed with extreme caution."

The red pen lay on the clipboard.

He looked quickly behind him as the officer opened the door and began shouting off orders to an outside door guard. They paused for a moment. The officer turned his head and stared at Ethan, the guard peeking over his shoulder. Then they both turned away, resuming conversation.

With a shaking hand, Ethan slowly reached for the pen and . . .

No, he thought quickly.

He whipped his hand away as if the pen had burnt him. And waited.

Ten painful minutes passed. During which time, the SS man casually smoked a cigarette with the guard, neither of them giving Ethan so much as a glance.

His whole fate lay on that clipboard . . . and his choice.

The officer finished his smoke and re-entered the room, slamming the door behind him. He scooped up the clipboard, perusing its contents.

Satisfied, he smiled at the disgusting UnFit. Not as smart as he'd thought.

He pulled the top sheet off the clipboard, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it in a corner wastebasket. Hurriedly, he scribbled on the next page, pacing over to the door and pounding on it three times rapidly.

The door opened yet again. The guard's head popped through. "Sir?"

"Get this . . . creature out of my examination room." His lip curled in derision.

Ethan blinked. Wait for it. Always wait for it. Nothing more can be done. Can ever be done.

As if reading Ethan's mind, the Officer shook his head in disgust. "Damn thing didn't even have the balls to fight."

The guard shook his head, confused. "Excuse me, sir?"

The officer passed over the clipboard. Scanning it quickly, the guard let out a sharp laugh. "A slave loyalist. My god, now I've seen everything! He really captured a runaway, sir?"

The officer nodded. "Yes, he did."

The guard chuckled again and crooked his finger at Ethan.

Still stripped, Ethan obeyed, passing out of the room and into a back parking lot.

The four trucks from the front parking lot now stood in the back. Strangely, only one of them was idling. Not enough to fit eighteen slaves.

Ethan's thoughts were interrupted when he felt something hard and plastic hit him in the chest.

He looked down. Perfectly air-sealed, a mechanics-gray uniform, wrapped in clear plastic. The guard dropped his cigarette and waited for Ethan to grab it.

Tentatively taking the uniform, he waited patiently for permission to put it on. No such luck.

The guard pointed to one of the trucks. Ethan trudged over there,  
pretending nonchalance as he placed the package over his . . . package.

At the back of the truck, two slaves, wearing the same uniform as that in the package, stood waiting. One raised his hand, stopping Ethan. He handed him a pair of white boxers and watched him silently. Eyes blank and dead.

Ethan slipped these on and was immediately addressed by the second slave, carrying a pair of handcuffs. When these were secured, he was hustled into the truck, the doors slamming shut behind him. The five slaves sitting on the floor all moved their heads up in unison, hope in their eyes. Clutching each other for comfort. Searching for the others.

Ethan quickly signed. "Where is everyone?"

No one answered. To utter it aloud would make it real.

Peering out the small crack between the doors, he slowly scanned his gaze upward.

To the top of the building.

To the greasy black smoke.

A deep breath.

Oh God, no.

The truck pulled away.

* * *

End of ChapterTwo (2)

* * *

BEHIND THE SCENES: This fic was originally going to be called "The Third Monkey" Good thing I didn't name it that. A kind reviewer reminded me that "Hear no evil" is actually the _second_ monkey. 


	3. Heads and Tails

**WARNING: This chapter contains explicit and offensive language. Reader discretion is advised. **

_I believe that in movie theatres, a film is allowed a limited amount of cursing and violence and still can keep a PG-13 rating. On this princle, I am not changing the rating of "Hear no Evil" until I hear a complaint._

**

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (3)

* * *

**

**PART FIVE: **_Heads and Tails - The Other Side of the Coin_

"Aw, come on honey, don't be like that." His hands slapped onto the brick wall on either side of her head, trapping her in.

Cassie slid out through the bottom and under his left arm, quickly walking away.

Remain completely quiet. To speak would only give them more fuel.

_Fuel to burn me with. I can't do anything, just wait and see what they do,_ she thought darkly.

"I guess she doesn't like you, Harry!" one of them peeped up.

Harold sneered and followed Cassie, his lieutenants close on his heels. No way this one was getting away from him again. Expecially after dancing with that white boy at school. Even if the guy was a total waste of life, he was still white.

And no girl is gonna be doing something so defiant as to flaunt the latest "desegregation" craze. He ignored the fact that segregation had begun in the early eighties, well before his own birth.

"Nah, she's just shy, playing hard to get" His packmates all burst out laughing, as if on cue. He caught her arm and spun her around, this time not letting go.

The fear in her eyes took him aback, but only for a moment. Harry was a hunter. Just like his father. Just like his grandfather. The animal always showed fear before the kill, but as his father had once told him, _"If you show the beast mercy, you only show your own weakness."_

Still, he hated this part.

He raised his fist, ready to sock her in the stomach.

A blow which never reached it's target. In a rage, he tugged his wrist out of the guy's grip.

Harry whipped around. The guy was pretty big, but had a reputation for being, well, "gentle". Almost never started any fights, refused to finish them. The only thing that kept Harry from ordering his packmates to pummel the guy was his position in the brotherhood.

He shook his head. How Jake Berenson became a County Commander, he'll never know. Of course, there was the fact his brother was the ex-Co. There were rumors that nepotisim had been shown, yet Jake's packmate's had always backed him in the votes, no matter what.

What is it about this pansy that incites so much loyalty? Harry wondered.

Oh well, no time for inter-WS policy revision. Now was time to bust some heads.

"Mind your own goddamn buisiness, jungle-lover." He grit out.

Jake calmly looked Harry up and down, then put his attention on Cassie. "Go to class, now."

Harold let her go, bigger fish to fry now. Without giving a signal, his brothers knew to start advancing around Jake and him, forming an inpenetrable circle of five.

Jake shook his head. "I don't want to fight you and I don't love blacks. But I also don't believe in senselessly beating the crap out of one, just for being black." he shrugged. "They can't help being inferior, it's not their fault and we shouldn't punish them for it."

Yes, that was the _right_. So many leaders had come and gone before Jake. Tyrants, all. The duties of the Youth County Commander were simple. Protect white youth from unstable elements. Control any person or group who attempted to step out of their Class. Punish non-white offenders. Set the prime example of a healthy white male.

Why was it so hard for others to simply follow their duties? Even Tom had stepped out of his bounds, punishing where it was not warranted. But not Jake. He was the Co now. His first day, he had torn up the "Warren Allowances", a so-called code of ethics book, which pretty much told cadets who they were allowed to punish and how far. This first act and many others to follow had won three officer elections in a row withelections now held every six months. A feat never before accomplished in Warren County's history.

Harry smiled complacently and spread his hands. "This isn't 'senseless', brother. The girl was seen talking and dancing with a white boy at one of your school's social functions."

Jake cocked an eyebrow. So, the other counties were spying on him. Strange, that usually only happened when a leadership was being challenged. Maybe Harold was a bigger threat than imagined.

Just keep listening, let this idiot bury himself. Just like all other Co's but me. Jake  
thought.

"That new kid, wasitsname? Tobias. Sure, the guy's an wimp, but he's one of us. She should know better than to try and seduce one of ours." Harry continued. "Plus-"

Jake raised a finger. "First of all, I'm not your 'brother', second, I was there. No one was talking to the new kid and she went over to make him feel welcome. Third, if I see you pulling this crap around my school again, I'm going to personally see to it each of your faces are caved in."

"Who the hell do you think you-"

Jake stepped up into Harrold's face. "This is_my_ school,_my_ turf, _my_ brotherhood. You go back to Wilton, I've got things covered here. Cousin." he said, calmly.

Harry smiled again. "I was just watching your back. If that girl reallywas dancing with a white boy, why, it would be horrible if the proper actions weren't taken by the Commmander of her County. There might even be an investigation of the White Youth Society to see if there should be a . . . re-arangement of leadership. I was only making sure there weren't any 'oversights'."

Two County Commanders. Packleaders in a standoff.

The threat was clear. To back off meant admitting Jake was right. To stay and beat Jake meant  
a pack war. Jake's brothers versus Harry's. A war between cousins.

. . . Of course, he could always get that bitch later.

Harry shrugged. "However it seems I was mistaken, let's head back." He smirked and waved at Jake as he and his pack slowly withdrew, not turning their backs on the other Packleader. "I'll be seein' you around, Cousin."

* * *

"Cassie, what's the matter?" 

Slamming her locker door shut, Melissa followed her best friend into the nearest bathroom.

"Just please leave me alone." Cassie said, quickly closing herself into a stall. "Besides, if you're caught in a colored bathroom, you'll get detention. Just go."

"Oh, like I care about that. These things are so ancient, you justknow when they make those school renovations in the fall, everything's gonna be intergrated." She shook her head. "But you're trying to change the subject."

"Look, it's not your problem, please don't worry about it."

Melissa leaned against the peeled-paint and graffiti surface of the stall door. "Well, is there something I can do?"

Cassie sniffled. "Yeah, you can help me make up an excuse for being late to Geography."

Melissa laughed as the stall door opened and Cassie put her arms around her in a little hug. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong or do I have to squeeze it out of you?"

Cassie bit her lip, hesitantly. "Some of those WYS guys almost jumped me outside the school."

Mellisa's eyebrows shot up. "What! Jake wouldnever do that! I mean, yeah he's into the whole 'we're better than everyone else' thing, but not violently so. He wouldn't have ordered a punishment."

Cassie shook her head. "No, Jake was actually the one whostopped them. It was some guys from Wilton County. They came out of nowhere, going on and on about the school dance last week. Something about me talking to Tobias. I was trying to get away, when Jake showed up"

Melissa squinted. "From Wiltoncounty? But, we're out of their jurisdiction. They actually tried to 'punish' someone from out of their county?" She chuckled a little, which made Cassie give her a hurt look.

"No, no, don't get me wrong, Cassie. I'm just thinking of what Jake's gonna do to them for entering his county. They'd better not sleep tonight, is all I'M saying."

Cassie gave a weak laugh. Yeah, she wanted to see them get their justice. She also knew just what sort of justice WYS Commanders usually dealt. Not something she'd wish on anyone, even Harold and his lackies from the smaller, and more opionated, Wilton County.

Good thing Jake was in charge of Warren, or they'd probably be just as bad here.

Melissa touched her on the shoulder, interupting her thoughts. "Come on, let's get you to class, before Mr. Riley flips out."

Cassie nodded distractedly and followed her best friend out of the room.

"Empirial Geography in Relevence to Current Quota" screamed the brass plate affixed under the window.

Quietly, Cassie eased the door open a crack and peered in.

Every head in the class turned towards her.

Sheepishly, she opened the door wide enough for her to slip in and speed-walk to her seat.

"Ah, Miss Carnet. I'm elated that you chose to join us on this fine day of higher learning."

Mr. Riley put his finger between the pages of his text, to keep his place, and partially closed the book.

"Enlighten me. What, surely urgent, matter kept you from arriving on time?" he asked, resting one buttock on the edge of his desk.

"I . . ." Mr. Riley was one of Cassie's main tormentors . . . and a known chaperone of the White Youth League. She would get no sympathy here.

She bowed her head. "My locker wouldn't open . . ." she muttered.

"Excuse me?" he asked curtly, cupping his right hand to his ear.

She cleared her throat and looked him in his intense, manic eyes. "My locker wouldn't open."

He looked at her expectedly.

"Sir." she concluded.

He nodded and muttered just loud enough, "Maybe your locker is black too." The class laughed like the pawns they were.

Cassie let out a shuddering breath and looked down at her books. Her shoulders slumped and she toyed with her pencil in her hands.

Nothing to do. Just wait for it.

Mr. Riley smiled at Cassie and shrugged. "It would explain why both you and your locker are always so unreliable."

Cassie looked up at him, her face could have been made of stone. This is what all of her "kind" had to deal with. What right did she have to cry?

"Now, maybe if you had-"

Mr. Riley stopped and looked towards the door, which had flung open. Jake stepped through and calmly paced over to his chair, sitting board-straight.

The instructor gave him a genuine smile. "Mister Berenson, do you have an excuse for being late?"

Jake nodded. "I had some extra-curicular activities to attend to, Sir." he said, without hesitation.

Mr. Riley, noting the code word "extra-curicular", simply nodded and turned to address the blackboard. "Now as I was saying, before the tardiness parade arrived . . ."

Picking up his baton, he tapped the map, just on the right middle side of North America. Now, as we all know," He looked up at Cassie. "Orhopefully know," she bowed her head, submissively.

"The North Eastern colonies separated from mother England in 1965. While the Americans actually won the war, England having trouble sending supplies to their troops so far away, the weak country they founded did not grow as quickly as they would have liked."

He placed his baton on his desk. "Thus, in 1970, when RussoCanada stormed the continent, The Allied Provinces of America were the first to fall under their might.

He turned on the projector sitting on his desk and pulled down the screen from the top of his board. The faded light projection was a political cartoon. It showed North America and a section of Europe. On England, stood a man wearing a crown biting his nails. On APA, a dust cloud with arms, legs and rifles sticking out, obviously representing a large brawl.

"This was drawn by S.F. Kipp, a leading propaganda artist and a criminal still wanted in four countries. Do any of you genius's think you can interpret this cartoon for the class?"

One of Mr. Riley's more astute pupils raised his hand. "Yes. Jeff?"

"Well, the meaning is kind of obvious, Sir. The King of England is watching the Russo-Allied war, wondering if Canada will move on to attack the remaining English colonies."

The teacher nodded. "Yes, Jeff, that's one of the reasons." He thrust on a new slide, showing a list which he read aloud.

"There were several reasons why England had to worry. One, yes, the other remaining Englishcolonies situated to the west would be at risk. Two, any victory for Canada in North America wasalso a victory for mother Russia in Europe. England not only had to worry about its colonies but it's own survival as well. And three, after separation from England, as a part of the treatyof New Amsterdam, APA was legally responsible for insuring that the bulk of it's exports and  
imports were to and from England. The King would lose a large source of revenue if Canada prevailed."

He reached over and turned off the projector. "Thus, the King's hand was forced. He would have  
stifle English pride and help his former enemies, the Americans."

"Now if everyone will turn to page forty-six in your texts, we can start on the history of our  
grand and glorius Empire, which BEGAN with the Russo-American war . . ."

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (3.5)

* * *

**PART SIX:**_Kitchen Tables and Eyerape_

The Regional Commander sighed and placed his can of Coke on the table. The dangerous looks on the County Commander's faces as they entered the room were tell-tale of along night ahead.

He gently brushed a speck of ash off his collar and waited for the Co's to take their places behind their chairs.

RCo Daily had been in this job for the past four years, as Regional Commanders were not elected by White Youth, but promoted by their superiors in the White Society. He knew he was in line for a step up to the State Command Staff and there were even rumors of him making Supreme Commander. The highest rank in WYS would give him state-wide power, as much control as a cadet was allowed.

The low-lit lamps punctuated the table's surface, casting a creepy, upward, yellow glow on their grim faces and shining off their insignia. The RCo was already seated at one end of the table, as was his right, facing the White Society Cadre, a chaperone, seated on the opposite end. The Cadre having taken his seat before even the RCo, as was _his_ right.

On each side of the table, the twelve Co's waited patiently for the command 'take seats', which was given hesitantly by RCo Daily, not wanting the meeting to begin.

"All right, we have some old business to clear up. Commander Kovacks?"

The Co to his immediate right cleared his throat, stood and consulted his clipboard.

"One, border disputes. It seems that a few of the counties are having troubles with cross-border punishments."

Daily noticed a few of the Co's shuffle nervously in their seats.

He peered at Kovacks in the dim light. "Who?"

Kovacks lifted a page on his clipboard, than stood at attention. "Revena and Renselaer, Warren andWilton, Glen's Falls and Palmer counties, Sir." he recited, emotionless.

Daily slammed his palms on the table as he stood up, earning a few jumps from the Co's.

"God dammit, when are you going to stop acting like school-children and grow the fuck up? We are Commanders, it is our duty to protect our people. How can you unite the White Youth when you can't even stay the hell outta each others way?" He whipped his head over his shoulder at Kovacks. "Who were the first two? Ravena and . . .?"

"Renselaer, Sir." was the quick reply.

"Renselaer," he barked. "Ravena, stand to attention!"

The two Commanders practically sprung from their seats.

The RCo eyed them carefully and wrote something down on a pad of paper before him.

"Warren and Wilton, South and Palmer! Up, NOW!"

Jake stood to attention with the other six, awaiting his fate.

The RCo nodded calmly. "There's only one way to settle your bullshit. The way of the fist."

A few of the Co's jerked their heads and gaped at their leader.

Cadre Riley tensed a bit at this, but allowed the RCo's judgement to stand. It would mean a rearangement of the un-official borders and a whole hell of a lot of paperwork, though.

Daily nodded with a wild-eyed look. "Oh yeah, that's right. I am notgoing to have you sending a bunch of your soldiers home bruised up just because you can't be responsible for your own actions. Maybe getting the shit kicked out of you, instead of sending someone else to do your dirty work, will stop this bull."

The way of the fist. No pack war.

Two commanders meet in front of their counties. They are checked for weapons and tested for performance-enhancing drugs. They are stripped shirt-less and duke it out, bare-knuckle to bare-knuckle. Years ago this was how all pack disputes were settled, until the rules changed. Now, whomever yielded first not only lost the dispute . . . but theirregiment as well.

Jake smiled. All he had to do was beat Harold. No one innocent would be hurt, then he could bring justice to Wilton and free them from the string of tyrant Commanders they have had to endure. Yes, onlyhe, Jake Berenson, knew the _right_.

At this rate, they might as well give him Supreme Commander now, and save themselves the trouble of election and promotion. Just a few more years . . . just a few more years . . .

"Kovacks, write this down," RCo Daily said, breaking Jake's self-important mantra. "At the next state fair, the Way of the Fist shall judge the strength of our commander's will."

"Whomsoever God chooses to lead each county will rise up and defeat the false leaders. Those who have slithered their way into the noble seats at this table will be thrust into the light, by the fist of the righteous . . ." he drifted off, losing energy.

"Sit down, sit down," he waved them, wearily. "Next order of buisiness?"

* * *

"I don't get it, what's wrong?" 

"Cassie, we're out of money. I don't think we'll be able to keep the ReHab-"

"Do you think it's right to just blurt it out like that, honey?"

Cassie's mother gave her husband a stern look. "Walter, Cassie is a responsible girl. And considering that this affects her just as much as us, she has the right to hear the truth."

The yellow glow of the overhead lamp not only added the perfect atmosphere for this conversation, but also served to remind them of their current financial situation. The dimmer switch was broken.

"I'm not going to be able to handle the duties of the ReHab along with the second job I'm going to be forced to take. You're gonna have to have a lot more responsibility around here, sweetheart." Cassie's father conceded.

"But, Dad, I can't take care of the animals and school! Both are full-time jobs!" her eyebrows raised anxiously as she shot her glance from parent to parent, searching for which one would be most likely to see her point of view.

Nothing.

"Cassie, thereisa way that you can continue going to school and work at the ReHab . . ." Walter said, hesitantly looking to his wife for help.

* * *

"So if you whup Scary-Harry, you get his county?" 

"That's pretty much how it works."

"Well, Jake-buddy, you better learn how to fight."

"Excuse me?"

Marco and Jake rounded the corner, the steady thump of the basketball on pavement in sync with their pace.

Marco hesitated. "You're a big guy, I'll give you that. But you've never had to fight before." Marco shrugged at Jake's hurt look. "Hey, usually you just say something and it's done. You know why our county has the lowest punishment rate? It's not because you're kinder than the other commanders, just more people listen to you. They don't try to be tough and blow you off like the other CO's."

Jake nodded. "I guess so, I mean, I don't think I've ever seen a rebellion here. Which is strange, because I had to punish people left and right when I first got the job."

"Well, it's probably because of Rachel. All the flesh crimes stopped after she was-"

Suddenly Marco noted the fact that his friend had been ignoring him and staring across the road. Or more specifically, at Mellisa Chapman. Marco smirked. Despite the position of power Jake posessed, it would not change his heredity. Or the fact that Mellisa's father hated Jews. With a passion.

He grabbed Jake's shoulder gently. "Buddy, I'll never be a lawyer, doctor or an officer. It's something I have to accept to survive. You have to accept that you will never have her."

Jake shrugged off Marco's hand. "Screw her Dad, man. It's just not right. I should have whatever I'm willing to work for. Geeze, what religeons we come from shouldn't matter."

Jake watched Melissa pull a few letters and magazines from her mailbox. Shifting the strap on her bookbag. Smiling as her father waved to her from the window.

Marco considered making a "screw her dad" joke, but decided to be a good friend instead. "Yeah buddy. It's just life. Accept what _is_. Know your place."

Jake nodded quietly as they neared his house.

"So, I'll see you tomarrow?" Marco asked at the mouth of Jake's driveway.

"Oh, yeah, sure. I'd invite you in, but my Pops, he-"

"Dude, I know. We've been friends since we were, like, fetus's. I think I know a little something about your Dad by now."

Jake smiled. "Yeah, I'll see you tommarow."

* * *

"If we get you some . . . extra help, you can be trained to take over my old duties and we can train someone else to finish your old chores." 

Cassie blinked confusedly. "If we can't afford to keep the ReHab, how do you expect to pay someone to-" Right then, it hit her. "Mom, Dad . . . we can't!"

Her mother raised her hands. "Now hear us out, Cass. We have a bit of money set aside for a rainy day. Enough to adopt an UnFit-"

"Adopt! Adopt! What you're talking about is a _slave_, Mom! Call it whatever you want, it doesn't change that what we're doing is wrong!"

"Cassie. Calm down. NOW." She said, using 'the tone'.

Cassie quietly leaned back into her chair and waited.

"Since you will be asked to take more responsibility, this UnFit will be completely yours. The state fair is coming soon, and you know how great the deals are there on some usually expensive sla- UnFits. It's your choice, you can choose whom your going to be working with at the ReHab or your father and I will go down to the Fair and choosefor you . . ."

* * *

"Well, well if it isn't Casanova." 

Jake studiously ignored his father.

"Mister Chapman gave me little ring today. Said he noticed you watching his daughter. What have I told you about eye-raping those above you?"

"I wasn't 'eye-raping' her, Dad. Give me a break, huh?" Jake moaned.

His father shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. Go empty the dishwasher."

Jake's mother was sitting at the table perusing the Reader's Digest while his father leanedagainst a kitchen counter, coffee in hand.

His mother peered over her book. "So, is she a prospect for the future Mrs. Jake Berenson?"

"Mom..." Jake moaned, rolling his eyes. "Youknow I don't plan on getting married until I at leastmake Lieutenant in thereal army."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, don't wait TOO long, honey. Before you know it, you'll be twenty-five and the Government will be pounding on your door every day, trying to pawn an 'unwanted' on you."

Jake's father chuckled over his coffee. "Or worse, a 'reformed'. Those Uber-obedient mind-slaves." he shuddered dramtically. "Those poor girls are like zombies after re-education. Gives me the willies."

"Oh, honey, be nice!"

"Come on, wouldyou want Jake married to one of those freaks? Or one that's pretending to be reformed? I can see it now, another Rachel married to our boy."

Jake winced a little at the mention of his cousin's name. Hoping they didn't notice, he ducked  
his head and placed the stack of plates in the cupboard.

"Jake, it's okay." He felt his mother's sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Great, they noticed.

"Rachel had it coming. It was yourduty to turn her in. I'm glad that you did it, instead of letting her go on with her ridiculous ideals. Better to stop her now, early, before she gets used to the idea of being able to say and do whatever she wants without reprocussion. If only  
Tom hadn't been so embarrassed about being a Co and related to her, I'm sure he would have brought her in years ago."

"Your mother's right, you can't beat yourself up for it. You did the _right_. You always do, my boy . . ."

* * *

End of Chapter Three (3)

* * *

BEHIND THE SCENES: I wanted to show why Jake would be coerced into joining the White Youth League. Now obviously, the league was primarily searching for young, white, arayan boys. A sort of Hitler Youth. But please recall that towards the end of WWII, Hitler had become so desparate for troops, he began allowing ethnics into the SS, considered the most elite of his military. So it's feasible, that since his father is a "patriot of the empire" and he was a big, strong kid, he could be allowed in.

But why join? Well, he always hero-worshipped his older brother, Tom. Even trying to play basketball, emulating Tom's most prized skill and hobby. This fact, not to mention Grandpa G's and Fitzpatrick's military experience, made me think I could get away with positing that Jake has a family legacy of military service which he is compelled to succeed in, to gain the respect of his older brother who is a hero fighting in South America.


	4. Mangled Humanity and Social Darwinism

This one is a conglomeration of three chapters.

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (4)

* * *

**PART SEVEN: **_Mangled Humanity and Social Darwinism_

A sea of blurred green interrupted by quick flashes of red were the first things Ethan saw when the doors opened. The truck, complete with a slave trailer hitched, arrived at the State Fair early in the morning. The six slaves were rudely awakened by the Slave Sergeants pounding on the walls of the trailer.

John had shaken him awake and pointed toward the exit.

He blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the dim light of pre-dawn. The sea of green was actually a field of grass, the flashing red were flags snapping in the soft breeze.

The Transport Sergeant became impatient with the slave standing dumbly in the doorway of the trailer. Grabbing the collar of Ethan's gray uniform, he yanked Ethan down to the ground and shoved him in line with the others.

Ethan craned to the side to view the stretching line of mangled humanity. He counted thirty-seven others awaiting new ownership.

One by one, their shackles were removed. Ethan marveled at the stupidity. Here were thirty- seven slaves, who were able to pass military standards, so are obviously semi-intelligent and fit . . . yet no one was trying to escape. Only four guards, two of them government slaves, the shackles removed- But no one was making a break for it.

Another quick look gave him his answer. Even if they did escape, where would they go?

Again, he felt his collar toughly pulled. This time not by the sergeant, but a old, fat, bearded man. Anger seeped from every pore and creased every crevice of his skin.

Ethan could barely make out what he was saying, due to the fact that the fat man was shaking him roughly. The Transport quickly ran towards the fat man, waving his arms.

The sergeant grabbed the man's arm.

"What are you doing!"

"What the fuck do you think you're trying to sellme? This little bastard's got something wrong with his head!"

Releasing his collar, the man grabbed Ethan's head with both hands and tipped it forward.

"Look. Just look! That scar runs clear down into his eye."

"Look how deep it is. He obviously has skull damage. Now, handing me a retard is one thing, but if this silly fuck goes into a seizure, like most of yours do, he might crack open his skull and be my waste of money."

"You seem to forget that the government gets a percentage of your sales. If you don't make money, neither do we."

The old man grumbled and shoved Ethan back into line. Ethan reeled back just in time to keep from knocking over one soul with a stump for a foot.

The most injured slaves, the ones not sell-able were sent to the fights.

Ethan shook off the feeling of dread and forced himself away from making a silent prayer, a cursed oath. Religion was forbidden to slaves. Do you baptize your dog? Church is where the former black slaves would scheme and plot the course of the Underground Railroad. They were aloud that one freedom to group. The slave owners of the future learned from that lesson. No slaves were aloud to speak en masse except in the confines of their sleeping quarters.

Even then, it was only on large plantations that slaves had group quarters, which usually had a hired slave-driver to monitor the conversations.

Slowly, the line was driven into the back of the auction block behind the curtain. The slaves filed into a small room, lit only by the cracks between the boards that made up the three walls of this cubicle. The fourth wall being a solid red velvet curtain. Just a portion of which  
covered the rest of the stage.

Ethan peered out the crack nearest to him, bending slightly, as it was centered at nose level.

He watched dawn approach and break, thinking of his future master. He gently fingered the ugly, raised scar on his forehead and traced it down to his unharmed eye.

Whether he would be a land-slave, a plantation-worker or a fighter.

The party was in full swing, by the time Cassie's taxi pulled into the fairgrounds. It was thetypical fair. Dancers with flowing streamers, men blowing fire from their oil-greased mouths, the county WS soldiers handing out pamphlets and signing young, white men in at their booth. A bluegrass band covered the grunts of fighters and the bellows of death's approach at the ring close by. The spectators cluttered around the auction block, awaiting this day's sales. The government always had the best wares when it came to slaves. Never a sour sale.

Cassie elbowed her way into the crowd of rough men and teenagers, who waived their pink-colored parental passes to every guard and questioner. As if proud of their permission to purchase human souls to work to their deaths. Cassie stopped the quivering in her lower lip and rummaged into her back pocket for her hated pass. She knew from watching the fair sales that she would be questioned soon.

Almost as if on cue, a guard tapped her shoulder. "Pass please, ma'am."

The "ma'am" was said with a sneer. Typically, the guard was white and therefore prejudiced with a passion.

She smiled sweetly and flashed her pass to the man. He grunted. "Carry on, then."

Cassie's eye was caught by a slight ruffle of the curtain. A slave peeking out onto the crowd. The slave was average height, average weight, average . . . well average everything. He was well-built, but not bulky, sharp-looking, but not angry. The only thing even remotely eye-catching was a red, angry-looking scar on his forehead. As if he knew she was watching him, his eyes darted straight to Cassie.

She gasped aloud at the connection of his eyes. A fierce, bright blue, they seemed to look into her soul. There was electricity crackling through his gaze, sizzling into her brain. He mouthed the word "Hi"

And he was gone.

Ethan backed away from the curtain and pushed himself way back into the small enclosure, all the way back to the wall he was at earlier. He wanted to put as much distance between him and that girl as possible.

There was something about her, that he couldn't quite . . . that was it. She didn't belong there.

Superior-looking men and women, bragging about the price on their last buy and speculating their victories at this auction. She wasn't . . . there. She wasn't one of them.

Ethan found himself wondering why she looked so sad. He was already trying to think of how to make her feel better. He shook his head.

_Why did I say 'hi'? What do her feelings matter to me_?

A scowl formed on his face. Even the most innocent-seeming of them were malicious bastards. She would buy a slave today, proving that despite her innocent, unknowing disguise- she was no better than the mob which surrounded her.

Jake sat in one of the furnished chairs, reserved for the County Youth leaders. Just one row behind their adult counterparts, the leaders of the main association that the Youth was a branch of: The White Society.

He watched the deformed slaves fight. To the death, of course. No quarter was given to the loser, while the winner fought for his next day of life in his miserable existence.

Not that he deserved any more. It was a question of Darwinistic Evolution, a concept that when presented, was accepted with gusto by the Emperor. The strong survived, spreading their superior genes. The genetically inferior were meant to die.

He just wished it didn't have to be so damn gruesome. A quick extermination in a gas-chamber was fine with him. Why all the delight? If someone made his pet dog fight to the death . . . just sick, that's what it was.

The idea of two beasts fighting for the entertainment of the masses never appealed to Jake. However, to walk away, with the other commanders here, along with the various leaders from the upper echelons of the Society, would be a death sentence to his career. It would also be the death of fair judgment and execution of punishment for his county.

He swallowed hard as a cudgel smashed in the face of a slave with a stump for a foot. Blood and spit flew in the direction of the swing. A piece of the loser's nosebone rocketed towards Jake, smacking into the plexi-glass wall with a wet sound and dragging down the side, leaving a streak of red on the glass meant to protect the crowd from ill-tempered slaves.

The people roared at the sight of a death-blow. Slaves weren't given sharp weapons. It would make it too easy for them to commit suicide and rob the crowd of it's entertainment.

As the other slave was led away, his counterpart being dragged not too far behind, stakes were being driven into the hard-packed, dirt floor of the ring.

Jake knew what was coming next. The buzz of the spectators dulled to a few who dared to mutedly whisper. Jake turned around at the waist to look above him at the mass of people. They were lucky enough to be in the top stands which encircled the ring. Of course, being blood-starved beasts, they probably envied his seat, so very close to the action.

All that would change soon enough. With Jake's radical policies and good leadership, his county's punishment rate was near non-existent. And when he had Harry's county in tow, it would give him the power he needed to step into the Regional position, spreading his ideals throughout the region.

And someday, the state he said with bright eyes . . . and a smile, which the commander of Glen's Falls misinterpreted. "Yeah, I can't wait to see those pygmie bastards get theirs, man. It's gonna be sweet."

Jake wondered how Co Blanche could be so calm. He too, would be fighting another Commander in the Way of the Fist today.

Jake delivered a fake smile and turned his attention to the small door leading into the wooden encirclement, as the first of the Savage war-prisoners was dragged into the ring.

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (4.3333333333333, ect.)

* * *

**PART EIGHT: **_Puberty-breaching Perverts and Methodic Execution_

The first presentation went smoothly enough . . . Right.

The Auctioneer's assistants streamed into the cubicle with jars of liquids and tins of fine powders. Ethan and the other males were stripped shirtless and oiled down, while the females were scented with fine perfumes and powdered to cover imperfections. Ethan was suprised to see an assistant with a tin of power start attacking his face. He was insulted for a moment, until he realized that the servant was simply trying to cover up Ethan's scar from the skull fracture.

The auctioneer peeked his head in for a moment. Hurry the hell up, would ya?

Rushing now, the slaves were directed out of the dingy room, single file.

All heads whipped up as a bell sounded. The crowd of well-dressed and dignified buyers quickly turned into a mob of sweaty, shouting beasts as they pushed toward the stage, sweeping Cassie along with them.

Cassie grabbed at the air, trying not to fall for fear of being trampled. How could her parents ask her to do this? Had they never seen these auctions before?

Finally the crowd paused, as if they all were holding their breath. Cassie stood on her tiptoes to see above the shoulders of one particularly tall individual.

The slaves were hearded out onto the stage by slaves in bright colored clothing. Their gaudy purple and gold-trimmed clothes were deeply contrasted against the female slaves "flattering" gray tanktops and the males tighty pressed, iron gray slacks.

The instant the last slave was brought out. The auctioneer ran to the first man in line and roughly propelled him forward. The mob yelled out it's offers, those not loud enough holding up hand signs to convey their bid.

Hearing the audatiously expensive bids, Cassie remained quiet and waited for the last of the line, traditionally the "Bargin Bids" or the cheap slaves.

In about ten minutes the most desirable slaves were re-shackled and shipped off. Most of the crowd dispersed, leaving Cassie and the other teenage bidders. There was a lot of posturing and "big talk" about how each had been granted a slave as various birthday presents or "just because." Although most of them were probably just hiring a house servant for their parents. One person boisterously claimed that this was his third personal slave granted.

Cassie smirked. Yeah right. The auctioneer pushed a female slave forward, who was charged as less, because she had been re-possessed from a tax dodger, so was not Government trained. Cassie barely heard the man mention that she was mute, before she was snatched up by one of the male teens in the crowd.

Shuddering to think of that poor girl's fate with a puberty-breaching master, Cassie felt someone's eyes on her. She examined the line more closely and--- that boy. He wasstaring at her again, with his sharp, blue eyes. Why did he-

Without warning, he leapt from the stage. The crowd let up a shout as he jumped into the mob and he was heading right towards her!

* * *

Jake patiently waited for the next horror of the ring to commence. War prisoners from the south were being tied to the stakes, driven into the sand-packed floor.

Usually, war prisoners were forced to fight as gladiators. These new prisoners were different, in that no matter how motivated, they refused to fight each other. Oh, they would tear any slave put in the ring apart. But that wouldn't be a fair fight anyways. Place two savages in the ring and they would just stand there talking to each other until the ringmaster came and killed them both.

The solution? Tie them to stakes and find new ways to please the crowd.

Jake winced as slowly and methodically, the ringmaster went down the line with a short dagger. He would stab one prisoner in the gut or face and them move on to the next.

Jake fought the bile rising in his throat and allowed his eyes to unfocus, blurring the nightmare for relief.

The last man in line was dressed in something which reminded Jake of the old western movies. The savage Native Americans fighting the galant Clearance Soldiers. Anyways, the movies had always placed the indians in brightly colored feathers and dark paints.

It was common knowlage that prisoners were stripped of whatever clothes theyactually wore and were costumed by the ringmaster. Not for the first time, Jake wondered what they really wore.

_Did savages fight in camoflage like soldiers of the empire? _

He heard the crowd roar. Thinking this meant that the "chief" was dead, he focused back to the ring.

With the others handing limp on the their posts, some dead, some dying, this savage stood tall, proud and off his post? The "Chief" had somehow gotten loose and was now holding the ringmaster's dagger!

A group of six WS soldiers burst through the small "performer's" entrance and quickly circled the last prisoner.

Waving the dagger menacingly, the savage addressed the crowd, shouting to be heard over the gasps, yells for blood and undignified protests.

Jake sighedand rolled his eyes. Yes, how dare he try to defend himself. Geeze.

The crowd hushed a bit and Jake leaned forward to better hear the prisoner's lament.

"Me llamo es Polo de Guintalla de Libertas Brazil! Polo es soldiero y-" He was cut short as one of the soldiers tried to rush him, only to get an amazingly quick knife jab to the temple. The thing that amazed Jake the most about this savage prisoner with his jet-black hair and dark eyes, was his apparent age.

This guy is just a kid like me.

Dropping the body, he continued as if uninterupted. "No hombre nessesito matar Polo. Polo matar tus Dio de muerte."

With those final words, he quickly brought his arm into a large circle, driving the dagger deep into his chest.

Jake felt as if hewas the one stabbed. He gasped to catch a breath and placed his hands on hisknees. These were "savages"? That boy could easily have been Jake, had he been born in The Southern Continent.

For a moment he imagined himself against a crowd of blood-thirsty spectators.

Jake nodded. Yes, he would have done the same thing.

He vaguely noticed a bell chime in the distance, signaling the beggining of the slave auctions far off in the distance.

Jake let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, as the bodies were dragged of the stage and the sand was sifted and cleaned.

After all, we wouldn't want county commanders boxing on bloody sand.

* * *

Cassie gasped and tried to run, but the crowd, though smaller than before, was still packed at the edge of the stage. Fearing the strong-looking, wild slave, the crowd parted in front of him, scattering while the crowd behind Cassie stayed to see what would happen next. Like the stupid cattle watching the fighter's ring nearby.

When he finally reached Cassie the slave stopped in his tracks, kicking up a little dirt. He looked confused and watched Cassie carefully. For a moment, Cassie felt as if he was waiting for her to tell him what to do next.

He pointed at her head or more specifically at the bandana that she was wearing that had come loose in the jostling.

The bandana was white and fluttering in the soft breeze. She carefully and slowly untied it, not wanting to provoke him, but feeling that she wouldn't.

The slave smiled gently and nodded at this movement. She couldn't help tentatively smiling back as she handed it to him.

He turned the bandana over and over, then stopped to examine a design on it carefully. He pointed to the design repeatedly.

"It's a tribal design. My grandmother gave it to me. It's sorta a family coat of arms or something. Well, I know it means a lot to her, at least."

Instead of being satisfied, he seemed more puzzled. This expression lasted only a moment, before several of the auctioneer's servants tackled him to the ground.

He lay prone on the ground as they re-shackled him, pausing to kick him a few times for good measure. Cassie mentally willed him to fight, not daring to say it aloud, but he stayed completely still and withstood the beating.

They muscled him to his feet and brought him behind the auctioneer's block, with a few good punches laid in along the way.

Ethan was dragged behind the block. Relizing he was still holding the girl's bandana, he tucked it into the waist of his pants, before someone could notice and take it away.

The fat man confronted him out back.

"Just one look and I knew you'd be trouble. Years of doing this shit, I developed a good eye for 'runners'. Some of them actually make it fifty yards. Well, at least you'll make some good entertainment at the fights. What are you, new or something?"

The strange girl seemed to appear out of nowhere. One moment, the slave master was sneering at him, the next coddling to a teenager, like a she was a dissatisfied customer.

"Now, what can I do for you, little lady?" he smiled politely.

She took a deep breath and stared at Ethan for a moment, then turned back to the fat man.

"I'll take that one home."

The fat man squinted and laughed. Then paused. "I don't get it."

She flashed a nervous smile. "It's not a joke, I want to buy that one," she said gesturing to Ethan and speaking quickly.

"Youdo realise that this slave is now classified as Insurectionalist? That means- "

"That no one will want to buy him and you'll have to settle for a manager's fee at the fights. Goodbye." She turned and started to march away. Whoever this girl was, she was showing a lot of education.

_Just as I thought. All sweet and innocent outside. Inside, nothing but another Shark._ Ethan grimaced.

The fat man ran up to her and said something quickly. Unfortunately, with both of their backs turned, Ethan could not tell what was said.

They both turned and Cassie handed the man a small, pink slip. Ethan read the words "Parental Notice for the sum of-" before the man greedily stuffed the slip in his pocket. "Well, all yours.Don't expect me to bring him home for you though."

She took a deep breath and gently grasped the cord leading from the shackles around Ethan's wrists. "That's okay, I called a 'service'"

As they both turned to head back to the front parking lot of the fair, Ethan saw the fat man try to get the last words in. _"Well, you have fun with your retard, you stupid,---"_

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (4.whatever)

* * *

**PART NINE: **_Mild Shocks and a Second's Thought_

_"-fucking IDIOT!" _the Regional Commander was one row up and behind Jake, pumping his fist and alternately cheering and berating his officers in the ring.

Commander McElroy's head snapped back from the blow. The fist carried through it's arc, causing Co Jenkins to pitch forward, following his poor aim. Luckily, he was able to catch his balance before falling face forward in the sand. Unfortunately, while he was attempting toreorient himself,McElroy landed a punch to the back of his skull, just where the spine meets the base.

"Oi!" The shout ran through the crowd with their fists shooting into the air in unison, mingling with the moaning from Jenkin's pack.

Facedown in the sand, he didn't even twitch. McElroy did not help him up, just stood there waiting for the attendants. To help him would show mercy. Mercy was weakness.

Jake, standing in the eves of the entry hall, turned away from the barred window and shook his head woefully. This kind of behavior was why only_he_ should be Supreme Commander.

When will our leaders realize that fighting each other only hampers the cause? We should be working together for the supremacy of the white race and to keep the other races in the lower classes.

The only way they could advance is if all the dirty jobs were done by non-whites, after all. Every non-white had to be taught early on that they would never occupy a white-collar position.

The Commander's job was to teach them.

And Jake now decided that his mission would be to teach the Commanders. Lesson one: Beat the unholy crap out of Harrold.

* * *

Cassie hesitantly reached for the slave's hand. She removed the tag on his wrist that said "October Six, 1984 - Male - Good Health" and replaced it with a 'H.Product Master 2.5'.

She looked him in the eyes and said very slowly, "This is a transmitter and 'bell'. If I need your attention, you'll feel . . ." She stopped for a moment and swallowed forcefully. "-a mild shock from that." She pointed at the small black box attached to the wristband. Ethan could feel the blunt prongs on the inside gently digging into his skin.

"I'd like my bandana back now," she ventured gently. October Six pulled the bandana from his blue-gray waistband and smoothed it out. He handed the slightly wrinkled scrap of white back over with a completely straight face.

Cassie decided to ask him more about this later. Her parents would be happy that she had managed to find such a well-fit slave for less than the average price. If the slave happened to be insane, however, her parents would be more than just a little peeved.

No point in bringing it up now, though.

"Okay, October Six?" She waited for him to nod in recognition of his name. He gave her nothing.

"Um, right. Let's get you home."

She removed his leash, tossed it to the ground and started walking towards the grassy parking area.

His mistress never even looked back to see if he was following. Ethan wasn't sure if he should be insulted or relieved. His new owner obviously didn't see him as a threat or a runaway. She simply expected him to follow her.

He would wait for now. Plenty of time to figure out where the Spanish Colonies were. Plenty of time to escape. Plenty of time to be free. Until then, he would play good little house boy.

The slave shadowed Cassie without hesitation. She made her way past the arena to a flat part of the Fairgrounds, where everyone had parked their automobiles.

Her service vehicle was idling nearby.

"-And that's a winning blow for the commander of Glen's Falls!" The announcer's voice rung out over the PA system along with cheers and hisses from the crowd. Cassie stopped right in her tracks. Commander? A commander fighting in the arena!

She whipped around suddenly, too quickly for Ethan to slow down, smacking right into him. Ethan wheeled backwards and bowed his head, keeping it just inclined enough to see her lips. He waited for her admonishment, but none came.

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. All you alright?"

Ethan's head snapped up as he looked at her in wide-eyed fear and confusion. She wasn't yelling? He wasn't at fault? What the h-

Misinterpreting Six's gaze Cassie touched his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Come on."

She gestured to the service driver who in turned tapped the face of his wrist watch insistently. Cassie held up one finger and the driver sighed and waved her on.

She made her way towards the arena, just as Melissa was coming out. Melissa looked around, knowing that Cassie would be at the auctions today. Cassie yelled out to her friend and Melissa called back, "Get over here, quick! Jake's fighting next!"

Cassie grinned at her speculations to what made Jake so interesting to Melissa. She had gone on and on one night about how he "just wasn't like the others."

* * *

Jake and Harold stood toe to toe in the center of the ring. The procurator addressed them both.

"Your blades, Gentleman." Jake and Harold each removed their ceremonial dagger and handed them over to their Seconds. Marco solemnly took Jake's dagger and stood on his toes to whisper in Jake's ear. "Something doesn't feel right about this, man. You're the biggest Commander in the state, Harry doesn't even look nervous."

Marco was interrupted by the Procurator. "Your uniform tops and under-shirts, gentleman."

Jake and Harry both stripped down to the waist, earning cat-calls and wolf-whistles from the crowd. Jake blushed a little, while Harry smirked and flexed his muscles to the spectators. While he wasn't as big or even as tall as Jake, he was well-built for his size.

"Jake! Hey, Jake! Starting to feel nervous, Jew-bag!" Jake tried to ignore the derisive shouts from the Wilton Pack. The Warren pack was sitting quietly. Jake had taught them better than to taunt their opponent. There was plenty of time for talking smackAfter the enemy was defeated.

"Hey Paul! Anybody ever tell you the difference between a crucifixion and a circumcision?" One Wilton soldier asked to another, loudly.

"No, what's the difference?" His friend, presumably "Paul" responded, shouting. "With a crucifixion, they throw out the_whole_ Jew!"

The entire crowd, save the spectators from Warren, hooted at this.

The Warren soldiers had enough. One of Jake's Pack mates jumped to his feet. "Don't listen to that crap, Commander! He's a pussycat! Whop his skinny little ass!"

The rest of the Warren pack was on their feet, now, cheering and shouting. Jake sighed. "So much for taking the high road," he muttered to Marco out of the side of his mouth.

"Big Jake! Big Jake! Big Jake!" The crowd of spectators seated behind the Warren Pack was chanting, showing their support. Suprisingly, the spectators behind the Warren Pack were not all from Warren. He recognized several Wilton residents mixed in with his county.

Jake's mouth became a straight line and his eyes narrowed in determination. That's what this is about. People. I'm not fighting to claim more territory, I'm here to give fair justice from their commander. The Wilton soldiers may not want me, but the people know I deal out a firm, true fist.

He sucked in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Harold became visibly shaken. Not only by the crowd's support, but Jake's reaction to it. He went into this fight assuming Jake didn't even knowhow to hurt someone, let alone willingly do it. The only punishments Jake reported in to the RCo were ones of suspension and restriction of privileges. No physical retributions. Something he was teased for openly.

But this officer looked ready to kill. Maybe Berenson could fight.

But Harold had an edge. A slightly illegal edge, but hey, whatever wins right?

Too late to back out now. The announcer's voice rang over the PA. "This match of the fist is to decide who will claim policing and law jurisdiction over both the Wilton and Warren counties. The combatants have been drug checked and seached for weapons. The match will end when one is either unconscious or signals to the procurator that they are unable to battle."

The Seconds were directed to the outside of the ring . . .

* * *

End of Chapter 4

* * *

BEHIND THE SCENES: The Spanish used was given to me by a helpful reviewer. I hope he didn't make me write something stupid as a joke. I originally wanted Portugese to be the language of the Empire's enemy. I see South America, parts of Africa and all of Austrailia to not be connected to the Empire. Also, Spain was conquered, but her Territories in North America still prosper. They have a Parliment and a No Slavery edict, but are directly controlled by the former King of Spain, who fled there for safety. As part of a treaty, the Free Territories must return any slaves caught to the Empire. However, convieniently, most slaves who flee are never caught. 


	5. Sharp Fingers and Hamburger Flesh

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (10)

* * *

Ethan stood quietly beside his mistress's seat, well in the back row. Could he make a run for it now? With everyone distracted by this strange ritual? 

He racked his mind to figure why this was so important. The entire crowd seemed entranced by the two combatants. During the other fights, most of the people at the fair were scattered around the different events. Now, it seemed as if the entire state was pressing close in the seats, aisles and doorways.

No, can't run now. Two many WS and WYS, he thought quickly. Just ride it out.

The officers handed something that flashed in the light over to two guys standing next to them. Ethan tried comparing the both of them to make sense of just what he was seeing.

They wore dark grey uniforms with grey vests covering. Black caps with the same insignia:  
two bars connected by two smaller bars, like a pair of railroad tracks. The tall one on the left  
had grey camoflague pants and red stripes on his sleaves, the guy on the right; green stripes  
with black dress slacks.

The men stripped to the waist. The larger one ignored the whoots and catcalls from the crowd,  
the other showboating.

So obviously they were of the same organization, but different units. Then why were they in the  
arena? For a moment he thought of asking his mistress.

The crowd began a low mumble, slowly building to a creshendo when- the first blow!

"Oi!" The people shouted and threw their fists as the shorter once lashed out with a puppy punch,  
barely striking the other in the collarbone.

The big one rolled his shoulder a bit, then advanced towards the smaller. Again, he was struck.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!"

A quick triple-punch. Left fist to cheek, right fist to stomach, left fist to cheek.

Red stripes stepped back for a moment, then went forward again. This time, Green went for a  
high punch, which Red ducked landing a hard punch to Green's side.

Red stepped back again, giving Green a chance to catch a breath. Red must have socked him good.

Stupid. Should go finish him off while he's wheezing.

Then Ethan realized that Red was stepping back on purpose! What? He didn't want to win?

Green was still wheezing and clutching his side. Red dropped his fists and quickly ran to his  
opponents aide. Green grabbed Red's shoulder, using him as a support. Red said something, then  
pushed away as Green touched Red's arm with his finger.

Jake stepped towards Harold. He couldn't think.

"Okay, okay, okay..." was all that ran through his mind. Here he was in front all the WYS of  
the state. "Don't let me lose." he muttered, not sure whom exactly he was asking.

The crowd rang out as Harry straight-armed him. Jake surmised that Harry was attempting a face  
strike, but aimed a little low, catching Jake in the collarbone of all things.

Jake moved away from Harry and rolled his shoulder a bit, to shake off the slight pain and  
ringing sensation in his collar. Harry could have broken his collarbone if he was a bit  
stronger . . . but he couldn't have been AIMING for the collarbone, right?

Jake shook his head and approached again. This time Harry got him in the same cheek twice and  
tried to wind him. First two hit on the cheek bone and the last on his lower ribs.

Jake stepped back again.

Jeeze, is he TRYING to break a bone!

He marched forward and directly right-hooked Harry where he guessed that the Commander's kidneys  
were located. That'll show him to fight fair.

Jake immediately felt guilty as Harry doubled-over and gasped for air. His eyes widened in fear  
as Jake rushed toward him again.

Jake bent and shouted over the crowd. "We should stop! Stop now! Come on, man! I won't  
try to show you up, hell I even gave you some free punches so you don't look bad! Let's just  
leave!"

Harry looked up and his eyes narrowed. Leaning on Jake he pressed his finger into Jake's bare  
arm. Hard, poking him . . . no. That wasn't a nail, too sharp.

Jake stepped back and shrugged, shaking his head. "You wanna keep going! Fine!" It was then  
he saw a small glimmer of light from Harry's finger... the sharp finger.

He raised his arm to his face and inspected the small bloodspot... "What the-"

SLAM! Harry had stepped up and punched Jake in the ear, while he was distracted.

Jake wheeled from the blow. He squeezed his eyes shut as the colored lights swirled through his  
head. If it was just a light punch, why was he so dizzy now?

A faint voice was crying up towards him. "The prick! The prick!"

Well, yes he is a prick, but- Then it made sense.

I've been drugged?

He forced his eyes open and concentrated on the one person standing before him... only now it was  
three people who were swirling around very pleasantly and-

Jake aimed for the middle Harry, putting all of his weight into his forearm.

Harry's nose seemed to explode on impact. One second: nose, next second: Blood, bone and  
hamburger flesh. Jake had a fleeting moment of satisfaction as he collasped to the sand,  
followed immediately by Harold.

With the last of his strength, Jake grabbed Harry's finger and held it up, then he simply fell  
asleep.

THE OFFICE OF CAPT. JOHNATHON DRAKE

"This is a disgrace to the corps. The little son of a bitch."

"It wasn't just him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he somehow had a plastic packet of poison planted into his index finger. He's no plastic  
surgeon. He had help. Help from a chaperone, I'm thinking."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing. I'm accusing."

"Oh, well in that case..."

End OF Chapter 10

Hear No Evil . . . (11)

Ethan would have grinned at his new mistress's obvious anxiety if he wasn't so confused. The  
way she would shift nervously in her seat. Every once in a while venturing with some inane  
question or another, which Ethan would only respond to with a bow of the head.

"So, um . . . I really hope you like it at the farm."

He nodded and looked out the window. The suburban hive slowly faded into stretches of  
unpopulated farmland which further progressed (or was it _de_progressed) into forest and wild  
meadows. The pavement under the Service Vehicle ended abruptly and with a slight jostling of  
the cab, melding into a dirt path, barely wide enough for two lanes.

Well, one thing's for sure: I didn't land a cushy house-servant job. He thought as they passed  
yet another cow and hay-bale infested plain.

The batch of trees ahead were surrounded by a metal mesh fence. He peered up ahead, but the mesh  
kept traveling along. The fence seemed to go on forever.

Just how many acres can a person own, thought the boy who owned nothing.

He looked to his Mistress for some clue, only to find that she was still talking, apparently not  
used to a deaf conversationalist.

-but ever since my father chose to protest the games, well at least the one featuring animals,  
the Gardens pulled our funding. So, you're going to be taking over my old "easy" jobs, while  
I learn how to pull some of my parent's weight.

Not realizing that Ethan had missed half her speech, Cassie misinterpreted the confused look  
on his face.

I'm sorry. she said with a sigh. That was probably a little too complicated for you to  
understand. Well, don't worry, when we get to the Rehab, I'm sure you'll catch on in no time.

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. Of course, he was an idiot, he must have forgotten.

He whipped away and looked back out the window where a gate in the fence appeared on the  
horizon. Where was his anger coming from? People ALWAYS assumed he was a moron. Even the Boss,  
his mas- his adopted father.

What did it matter what this little Nazi-in-training thought?

"Reg_ee_m_eh_!

"-Platoon!" The Platoon Sergeants echoed over their shoulders to the eight platoons. The four  
Warren Platoons lined up nicely on the right in a line formation, while Wilton on the left was  
in a box formation. The two different styles of procedure couldn't be more pronounced if you  
highlighted them with a marker.

"Atten_-shun!"_

One hundred thirty-five voices hollared at the top of their adolescent lungs.

_"PROUD AND STEADY, ALWAYS READY! WARREN DEFENDERS, OI!"_ At the same time, their shout mingled  
with another . . . just as loud, just as aggressive.

_"GUIDE THE PEOPLE, PROTECT THE RACE, STAY THE COURSE- WILTON!" _eighty boys responded.

First Sergeant Michael "Top" Fischler scowled. Never before had Wilton's presumptuous Credo  
rung through the hallowed halls of the Warren Drill Shed in the Warren Armory. He would make  
sure that it was never heard again. Those Wilton bastards will be assimilated quickly, or  
learn just how "persuasive" Top's teaching techniques can be.

With this lament, accompanied by the thundering sound of combat boots, the largest unit in the  
NorthEast Region/Battalion came to attention. 1SG Fischler performed a left face and waited for  
his Commander.

Jake returned Top's shaky salute. The boy was obviously disturbed about the new "recruits".

"Post," he commanded.

Top and the Platoon Sergeants ran quickly to the rear of the formation as the Platoon  
Leaders, Jake's lieutenants, took their place up front.

"Stand at_-ease_" Jake ordered. Everyone in the regiment spread their feet to shoulder width and  
and took out memo pads.

"Okay, gentlemen, first things first: We need to . . .welcome our newest members. You'll  
find things are run a little bit differently here in Warren. Platoon Leaders? I expect a full  
report of-"

A cry emerged from the distinct line between the two units.

The straight rows of soldiers suddenly became a ball of muddled confusion. Jake ran to the  
regiment and joined the officers in pulling the yelling boys off this pile until he reached the  
offenders at it's center. One wearing the Warren Red unit stripes, the other in Wilton Green  
stripes and black dress slacks.

"Kill the bastard! Get him!"

"Demolish that pussycat!"

"Get out of the way! Grab them, damn it."

It took six soldiers, but eventually the two combatants were subdued. "First Sergeant," he said  
in a low, silky voice. "Take charge. I want to see eight_orderly_ platoons when I get back."  
However low and calm his voice was, Jake was not in the mood for this chaos. He let out a deep  
sigh as one of them broke free for a moment.

Angrily, he shoved the Wilton soldier back into his captors. "Take them both downstairs to the  
Mess Hall." Jake refused to send a Wilton soldier to the hold on his first day in charge. The  
new people would assume he was prejudice against Wilton and he would never earn their trust then.  
Bad enough they saw him shove the Wilton man and not his own Warren soldier.

* * *

Cassie swung open the barn doors and gestured to the inside with a grandiose swing of her arm.  
"Tada! The Barn! . . . So, it's not much, but it's home. Well, your home at least," she said with a nervous laugh.

This would be so much easier if he'd say something, Cassie thought.

But October Six was still quietly standing behind her, head slightly bowed as always, it seemed.

"Well, uh, a tour. Yes, a tour. That's where we keep the horses, I guess one of the things you'll  
be doing is mucking out the stalls. We keep all the birds over there, believe me there's a lot  
of 'em. Up top is the hayloft, I suppose that will be your-"

Cassie stopped when she felt the tickling-itching feeling of hay around her ankles. Slowly, she  
turned around. While she was talking, October had found a broom fromsomewhere and had started  
sweeping the barn floor.

She cocked her head to the side. "Did you catch any of what I just-" Cassie squinted and  
gently 'decked' herself in the forehead. "I completely forgot, you couldn't hear me . . . you  
can't hear me right now. Oookay. Talking to myself here."

October looked up. He pointed to the horse stall, then the bird's cages and lastly the  
hayloft. After which, he went right back to sweeping. Well, at least he'd been paying  
attention, even if he didn't catch what she had said.

"Cassie! You back yet?"

Cassie tapped Ethan on the shoulder as she raced out the barn door. He paused just long enough  
to place the broom where he found it, on a peg near the door, then raced right after her.

Ethan watched her carefully, knowing her tendency to stop shortall too well. Just as predicted,  
she halted suddenly in front of the house next to the barn.

Standing in the doorway, as if just about to enter, was a short balding man in his late thirties.  
He had an infectious smile accompanied by a nervous adjusting of his round-framed glasses.  
Ethan surmised the nervous adjusting was due to his presence.

"Well, hey there! Great job honey!" Stepping right up to Ethan he reached out his hand.

Seeing people do this before, Ethan tentatively grasped the man's hand and held on as he pumped  
it up and down. Stubbornly, Ethan tried to keep hold of his dark mood, only to feel it ripped  
away as he tried a shy smile.

The man chuckled. "Doesn't matter what race they are, all teenagers are moody." He patted  
Ethan on the shoulder and released hi s hand. "My name's Walter, young man, and I'm Cassie's  
father." Cassie's father raised his eyebrows expectantly and paused.

"Well, young man, this is where you tell me your name." As Ethan as about to speak, Cassie  
jumped in, trying to rescue him. "His name is October Sixth, right?" she said, smiling.

October's smile faded slightly, but he nodded sagely and looked Cassie's father in the eyes.

"I think he'll do well here. Did you remember to pick up the feed on the way back?" he asked  
Cassie.

"Iknew I forgot something. I'm sorry, Dad, I'll head right back out, okay?" she said  
quickly.

"Heh. Just make sure to get back before your mother does. You know the woman's a tyrant."

For a moment, Cassie and her father shared a secret look, knowing that the only power a mother  
legallyhad was what her husband gave to her. Times had changed, just not enough.

"As a matter of fact, why don't you take October with you? Give him a little test run, eh?" he  
said patting October on the shoulder again.

Cassie was hopeful for a second, her parents had never had any other children, because they  
wouldn't have been able to afford them. Had her father ever wanted a son? If she treated  
October like a brother, maybe her parents would treat him like a person.

"Hey, October?" She looked him straight in the eye. "Think you'd like to head down to the feed  
store with me?" Within his returning scowl, she realized her mistake. It was all fine and good  
to talk about treating him like a person, but from the very beginning, she had not.

Watching her father enter the house, she refused to break eye contact with him as she did  
something completely illegal. Turning his wrist, she pressed a button on the keypad in her  
pocket. The two round pegs popped out from his wristband. The slave master was disabled.

Did he know that he could run now? Did he know it didn't work? What if he reallywasn't as  
smart as Cassie now blindly hoped? What if-

"Ethan."

She blinked blocking his glare. "I- what?"

"My name is not Octhober. My name is Ethan."

Cassie couldn't help smiling slightly at his lisp and she nodded.

"Ethan? Would you mind making a run to the store with me?"

"Delighted to."

* * *

Thump, thump. SWISH!

"So, Jake. Just wondering, how_does_ it feel to have a spic kicking your ass?"

"Marco, youknow we have no jurisdiction over Hispanics-"

Thump, thump.

"Yeah, 'cause we out-number you!"

Thump-thump CLANG!

"Oh, other miss, Jake!"

Jake grabbed the ball and fixed Marco with a stare. "Marco, we've been friends since pre-school.  
I've stood by you through hell, high-water,and my father. What's all this 'Racial Pride' talk  
for now?"

Marco shrugged. "Hey, man. Just representing my people." He said thrusting his fist in the air.

Jake chuckled and checked the ball into Marco's gut. "Just play, Marco."

"Yeah, yeah. One day my people will rise up!" Marco gently placed the ball in the driveway and  
set his foot on it, raising one arm to the sky and thumping the other to his chest. "There  
will be no borderlines, there will be peace spanning the continent, there will Taco bells as  
far as the eye can- hey!"

Jake kicked the ball out from under Marco's foot, knocking him off balance.

"Seriously man, no more race talk. Just play ball with me."

"Jake?"

"Yes Marco?"

"Why are there no Mexican Olympics?"

"I am notasking."

"Come this is a great joke! Come on man! Just say 'why'!"

"Why? Why bother? You're just gonna tell me anyways."

Marco gave his trademark smirk. "It's the price you pay for being my best friend."

* * *

Behind The Scenes: I thought of the poison packet while watching a show about forensic scientists.  
Apparently, a Sexual offender placed a tube of someone else's blood in his arm to fool DNA blood  
tests so he couldn't be matched with DNA found in a rape victim. So I figured Harry could put a  
packet of anesthetic in his finger and stick a small needle (the size of a spinter) into the  
packet. Just stab your victim and squeeze the packet. To the naked eye, it would look like you  
have an infected splinter in your finger. 


	6. Freshmen and Fresh Meat

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (6)

* * *

**PART TWELVE:**_ Freshmen and Fresh Meat_

TWO YEARS AGO, WARREN COUNTY JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL

Streamers and disco balls cluttered the ceiling. Paper cut-out snowflakes and snowmen were  
plastered to the walls. The cheesy Christmas music faded from the speakers and the main lights  
of the stage turned on.

The participants of the Warren Defenders Freshman Winter Dance/Recruitment all turned toward the stage to figure out this interruption.

The commander of the Warren County Defenders calmly stepped onto the stage. The crowd of  
Freshmen hushed themselves and waited.

Tom kicked some blue and silver balloons out of the way so he could reach the podium. The  
microphone activated with a crackle and feedback and he began speaking in his trademark way of  
fragmented sentences.

"New faces. New prospects." He raised an eyebrow. "New recruits?" he asked, almost pleadingly.  
The crowd chuckled.

"Freshmen. You now begin your next step. Into adulthood? Into maturity? I do not know."  
He paused. "-and I fear I shall not find out." There were some confused mumbles over this,  
followed by rampant "shhush"ing and "quiet already, he's not done!"

"I will be joining the Echo Company Invasion Force this fall. I step down and open the floor to  
voting. Enjoy the rest of your Winter Dance. Happy Holidays."

Tom stepped away from the podium, performed a left face and marched back into the backstage  
curtains.

Jake, standing guard at the entrance to the gym, shook his head. "Freakin' melodramatics'."  
he muttered. "Ya could've given them some warning, Tom." He adjusted his uniform. The thing  
was beginning feeling tight around the chest. What was this, thethird new uniform since he  
joined? Already he had acquired the nickname "Big Jake". He wasn't even that big yet, just well  
known for his tendency to be seen in the supply hall arguing over sizes with the Sergeant there.

He turned away from the crowd and looked out the doors, returning to his duty.

There were some cries in the crowd. Several soldiers, in formal uniforms, began shouting and  
calling out their prospects for the next Commander.

"Bones! Somebody get Bones!"

"He's on the john, man!"

"Then get him off!"

A few more WYS pushed away from their girlfriends, racing for the bathroom.

"Kids! Kids, calm down!" Vice-principle Chapman stepped up to the microphone, attempting to  
control the kids who weren't going to listen to him anyway. After all, he was only a  
vice-principal. The WYS only listened to the WYS.

One soldier running out the door accidentally bumped into Jake. Pausing for a moment,  
he apologized. "Sorry, Staff Sergeant." Then his eyes brightened suddenly. "I nominate Big  
Jake! Big Jake!" He yelled across the gym. "_BIG JAKE!"_

Jake laughed and shook his head. The idea was absurd. Jake wasn't Commander material. He'd  
have to punish people left and right. He'd never hurt anyone in his life.

Tom was Commander since Jake joined last year. With your brother as a Co, there's not too many  
tough assignments handed your way. He'd never had to carry out a punishment or even get close  
enough towatch one.

Despite all this, the crowd was catching on. "Big Jake! Big Jake! Big Jake!"

Jake began to get worried. He didn't want to be a commander. He shook his head and waved his  
arms, trying to get the crowd's attention.

He felt a slight tug on his sleeve and a female voice yelled over the crowd. "Go to the podium!  
They can't see you down here by the doors!" Not bothering to look back to identify the owner of  
the voice, Jake pushed through the crowd up to the stage.

They erupted when he reached the podium. Jake felt a sick taste in his mouth. His brother was  
gone for five minutes and already they needed a new Co. A new ruler. Dictator.

Did theywant to be ordered and punished? No. They need a kind ruler. One who make things  
better. A guy who could-

Jake felt some sort of heavy sensation in his chest. He had never felt this way before. The  
crowd was shouting his name, his heart was pounding, he was weak and strong at the same time.

Only he could see what Warren truly needed. No. What the State needed. A supreme commander  
who didn't want to reign Supreme. Who didn't want to hurt. Who didn'twant a career in politics.

They need me.

No one else must gain power. It cannot be allowed. I am going to be Supreme Commander here.

Five hours later it was done. Jake was signed up for Officer Training and was slotted as Co  
elect.

Leaving the office he saw Vice-Principle Chapman run up to him, raising his arm to get Jake's  
attention. "Mister. I think we need a little chat."

"Should we go to your office?" Jake asked, straight-faced.

Chapman shook his head and grabbed Jake's shoulder. "No, no, that won't be necessary. I just  
want to give you a little . . . cautionary word."

He leaned in close, whispering horribly "I promised my staff there wouldn't be another member  
of the. . . Jewish persuasion at the top of you little organisation again." He pulled back away.

"You see, young man, it's just not fair to everyone else to have the same type of people  
running thingsevery year. We need to keep things equal. You understand?"

Jake yanked his shoulder out of Chapman's grasp.

"You can tell your staff that I plan on being Commander this year. And the next. And the next."

Chapman raised his eyebrow. "No one's been re-elected more than once, Tom-junior."

"I will."

Chapman scowled and turned on his heel. He stormed away, but just as he reached the corner of the hallway, he felt compelled to yell over his shoulder: "And have a Merry Christmas, too. Jew!"

Jake smoldered for a bit. Tom was always able to handle the comments with ease. But the whole  
thing made Jake's stomach ball up into a knot. Not of anger, but . . . illness. Yes, he felt  
nauseas. Why did people have to-

"Happy Hanukkah." That same voice which instructed him to take the podium. But there was no  
sarcasm in her greeting.

Jake whipped around. Of all the sweet irony . . .

Melissa Chapman. Smiling at him, uncertainly.

Jake smiled slowly. "Thanks." He said quietly. "You too."

"I'm sorry about my dad, he's . . ." her voice trailed off, embarrassed.

Jake felt the sudden need to reassure her, to not condemn her for her father's actions.

"Nah it's fine." He said, with a warm chuckle. "I get that alot."

Now she grinned brightly, touching his arm . . . "So, I guess I'll see you around, 'Commander'."  
She waved to a group of friends passing by behind him, then ran off to join them. Completely  
removing Jake's nausea.

* * *

PRESENT DATE, THE JANE AUSTIN MEMORIAL RE-EDUCATION CAMP

"Hey! Fresh meat! Let's go."

She rolled off her pallet with what started as a sigh of exasperation and ended as a moan of  
discomfort. Rubbing her shoulder blade and giving her "bed" one last, baleful glare, she creaked  
the wooden door open.

Rachel squinted her eyes against the dirty sunlight. Through the mist of dust, she could make  
out the outlines of a transport truck pulling in.

Fresh meat. New unwanted female.

Clarissa, or Eleven-twenty-six as she was designated, nudged Rachel. "Look at that one!"

Rachel scanned over to where Clarissa was looking. A new girl was struggling against two  
Instructors and was actually making some headway . . . well, until one of them hit her in the  
knees with his baton.

Rachel could tell right away why this one had been sent here. Her hair was almost completely  
shaved off.

"Radical." Rachel murmured with a smirk.

With a quick secretive look to Clarissa, Rachel jogged down the pathway towards the UnWant-16 Labor Construction Site.

The last thing she needed today was a "lesson" for being late.

* * *

Despite Cassie's attempts to treat him like an equal, Ethan insisted he carry bothheavy bags of  
feed. Scooping them up onto his shoulders, he waited for Cassie to finish her goodbyes to the  
counter-jockey and open the front door.

Out into the fresh air, Cassie couldn't help but feel she had lost whatever headway she'd made  
earlier. At her house he'd seemed almost happy to be asked to go to the store. However, he had  
not spoken to her since they left the driveway.

Venturing shyly, Cassie tried to start a conversation.

"So . . . where are you from?"

A pause.

"The moon." Cassie looked at him as if he was crazy, then noticed the little smirk creasing his face.

So that's how he wants to play.

"The moon? Really? Did you meet any Russians up there?"

"No. Accor-th-ing to the Empire, they didn't really go there. It wath all a hoax."

She nodded knowingly, as if this was a normal conversation.

After a few more moments of silence, Ethan sighed. "I'm from New York, originally. Then I was  
movedfth here."

"Moved? By who?"

But Ethan wasn't paying attention. Cassie followed Ethan's gaze. He was staring at the small  
group of WYS soldiers hanging out at the road junction up ahead.

Cassie chuckled. "Don't worry, those are Warren, they won't give us any-" She stopped suddenly.  
Now that they had walked a little bit farther she could make out the soldiers faces. They were  
wearing the camouflage and red stripes of Warren, but she didn't recognize any of them.

No . . . she recognized one. Paul Stubecker. From Wilton. What was he doing in a- Oh yes, the  
Wilton now were part of Warren.

What did she think? All of them would suddenly become as kind as Jake's troops? Just because  
they wear the uniform?

"Oh, no."

Ethan furrowed his brows, confused. Why was she so scared of these guys? None of them were  
even half the size of Ethan. Ethan didn't scare her.

He shook his head. Whatever it was about these guys that riled her didn't matter. Why should  
he care about the mistress's problems? So she was nice to him. So what? She was still a  
slave-owner.

More importantly, she was HIS slave-owner.

Ethan was compelled out of his ponderings by a quick movement up ahead.

One of the soldiers up ahead was pointing at his mistress. At . . . Cassie.

End of Chapter 12

BEHIND THE SCENES: I figured I should make SOME explanation for why Jake wanted Melissa so bad. I couldn't find a way to write it into the story though. I was thinking, "What do I do? Have Marco say 'Hey Jake, remember how Melissa was nice to you and now you want her body?'" So, I decided to leap back in time.

Think I'm taking too much of an artistic license? Review me with whether you think I should  
have left that out of the story and just have kept it simply that Jake likes Melissa without any  
explanation.


	7. Blue Denim and Teddy Bears

* * *

Hear No Evil . . . (7)

* * *

**PART THIRTEEN: **_Blue Denim and Teddy Bears_

He stared stoically at the cracked sidewalk and the bag of feed split open over it. Concentrated  
on the grains still pouring out the side. The other bag was still on his shoulder.

Don't look up.

His heart would not let him watch.

If I move, I'm dead. I can't just stand here, but if I do anything . . . They would hang me.  
There's too many of them. One of me. So what if I'm bigger than them? Even ifthey didn't get  
me, someone else would. And she'd just get what's happening to her but later. And probably much  
worse. It's better I don't interfere. I'll only make it worse on her next time.

I can't save her. I'm just a slave.

A fluttering scrap of blue denim was carried into his vision by a wayward gust of wind.  
Gently setting the other feed bag down, he slowly picked it up. It was a pocket . . . the back  
pocket to Cassie's overalls.

The very idea . . .

His body shook with rage. She was kind to him. A little misled and even a bit  
holier-than-thou . . . but that wasn't her teach their kids to treat slaves that way.

But she didn't beat him, didn't shout with a horrible look, didn't call him worthless.

He wretched his eyes upward.

They were laughing, hitting. One of them was standing to the side, bending over her face,  
taunting her.

Nobody will believe you, so I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut.

Ethan could see Cassie's underwear through the torn patch in the back . . . and even more as the  
tormentors yanked at her pant leg, until it too tore. What he was witnessing seemed almost  
sacrilegious. Like pissing on a cross or something.

Through the press of the three "soldiers", he saw a flash of her face. She was crying.

They stopped suddenly and stared up at Ethan, just as he realized that his throat was raw.

At first Cassie laid on the ground, also staring at Ethan as his red, angry face bellowed out  
an animal battle cry. She furtively clutched the remains of her tattered clothing with one  
hand and wiped her face with the other.

"Ethan, don't! They'll kill you!"

"You're goddamn right we-"

_"Who the fuck do you think you are!"_ Paul was caught off guard by this one's boldness.  
His utter lack of fear or respect. He stepped back a little as the slave stopped within an inch  
his face.

"You think you're so powerful? I'll show you powerf-" Ethan cut off as he lashed his right  
fist into an upward hook. Catching this officer just below and inside his ribcage.

Feeling his knuckles hit bone and the soft belly underneath, Ethan was surprised at the Officer's  
wheezing and coughing.

He was caught off-guard, no chance to clench his muscles in anticipation. Had these people never  
been hit before? Ethan had barely tapped him compared to some of the beatings HE had been  
subjected to.

The others still had done nothing. Simply watched this scarred slave as he pushed their team  
leader against a building.

Grabbing his lapels and the insignia of power they carried, Ethan felt the prongs underneath  
pressing into his palms.

"You turn me in. Tell the cops. Go for it. You'll be clutching your teddy bears safe in the  
volunteer station. The ones you love, care about?" He smirked cruelly. "How safe are they?"

Paul's face was of total horror and confusion.

"I've got nothing to lose. You can hunt me the rest of my life for this, but I'd escape you and  
your army for a short period of time. Just long enough to find someone you care about. I'm  
a savage, evil, retarded slave. Think I care about your Mommy? I care so much, I'll set her  
up a_permanent_ retirement plan," Ethan spat out.

The lapels tore as the leader yanked himself free. Pushing past Ethan and racing down the street.  
His two companions, seeing their leader so humiliated and afraid, did nothing more than turn and  
race after him.

Still lying in the corner, Cassie had stopped trying to cover herself. The torn pants lay  
forgotten around her.

So different.

Even his voice was different, the lisp gone. His speech clear and terrible.

Like two different Ethans. He finally turned, the threat gone, to stare at Cassie.

His hand was twitching at his side as her reverted back to his original language. Would an  
English speaker swear in Spanish? So his fingers twisted into a few swear words he made  
when he was young . . . and also a few new ones he made up on the spot.

Then it was as if something clicked in his brain.

The switch was thrown. The monster was gone.

She unconsciously flinched at his touch as Ethan brushed her arm gently.

He frowned at her expression. "Are you hurt, Misthress?"

She shook off the chill down her spine. "Yes. But I'll heal" She took his offered hand  
and Ethan pulled her up. She felt something stick her left hand as she grasped his.

Cassie calmly open Ethan's hand all the way to reveal a lapel with a pin attached . . . and the  
pocket of her overalls.

Ethan's eyes brightened and he squatted down to scoop up the pant leg. Still crouching, he  
directed Cassie to step into the leg and then pinned it in place . . . with the stolen officer's  
insignia.

Ethan looked up at her and smiled shyly. "There'th only one pin, so I'll walk behind you. No  
one see-th the rip in the back."

Cassie smiled back down at him. He was so withdrawn since she first met him, that seeing him  
this way now made her completely forget about how he was in the fight. The way his eyes and  
words were so cruel.

He was only defending me, she thought to herself. He would never really do those things.

No one isthat ruthless.

But in the back of her mind, no matter how much she denied it, she was afraid of him.

* * *

End of Chapter 7

* * *


	8. Obvious Tactics and the End of the Rope

14. Obvious Tactics and The End of The Rope

HEAR NO EVIL (14)

ONE YEAR AND NINE MONTHS AGO..  
"-and her will so strong, all tremble in her path!"

"This ends today's broadcast of the Cross-Empire Channel"

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

"Ug." Jake grunted and rolled over, squinting his eyes at the colored bars on the television.  
Where the hell is that remote?

He followed the cord leading to the television to under the cushion. He yanked on the cord,  
popping the remote free from the couch. "Thank you." Jake muttered as he ceased the CEC's  
end of the broadcast torture.

Well, who ever said that being a commander was easy?

Apprehensive, he risked a look at his watch. Three AM. Which of course meant one hour and  
thirty minutes until his Superior Officer's Training (SOT) class began for the day.

WYS's newest Co peeled himself off the couch and lightly padded up to his room. Zombie-like, he  
opened his closet door and numbly rumaged for his new uniform. Now that he was future commander,  
the Supply Clerk was more than happy to find him a uniform that actually fit for once. He had  
to have it custom made, but "hey, nothing's too good for Big Jake."

Jake was shaken from his half-dead morning ritual by the sound of the front door shutting.

He quickly pulled out his baton from the top shelf of his dresser and peered around his doorway.  
A shadow was slinking up the wall next to the stairs. Jake ducked back into his room, pressed  
against the wall. Ready to swing.

A familiar shape passed Jake's bedroom door. Tom? What the hell was he doing coming home this  
late?

PRESENT DAY  
"No, he is NOT a puppy. He's a person!"

"So? People like nice clothes."

Cassie sighed and fell back on her bed. "We are not playing 'dress-up' with October Six."

Raising an eyebrow, Melissa tried an obvious tactic. "Did it occur to you that maybe he might  
WANT more than just that grey uniform? It's almost . . . cruel to force him to wear the  
same clothes every day . . ."

Cassie bit her lip at the word "cruel". In a way, Melissa was right. It WAS kinda selfish not  
to get Ethan new clothes just because she hated the mall. She KNEW Melissa was only trying to  
find entertainment for the day, but there WAS some merit to her argument.

Melissa smiled knowingly. Cassie was the kind of person who would swerve a car for a caterpillar.  
Of course, that's what Melissa liked about her so much.

"If only you liked shopping, you'd be the perfect friend," Melissa said, shaking her head  
mock sadly.

"Alright, how about this? We ask him. He says 'yes', we'll take him to the mall." Cassie  
conceded, with extra scorn on the word "mall".

They traveled down to the barn and caught Ethan in the middle of moving hay bales. He grunted  
and swung the fork up, the hay perfectly landing in a pile, ready to be bound. Noticing the  
shadows against the far wall, he turned and leaned against the pitchfork. "Hey Cath, I fini-"  
He stopped short, seeing Melissa there and bowed his head quickly. To be so familiar with his  
master was unacceptable in society. He almost blew his cover.

Cassie cleared her throat, but Melissa spoke up first. "Hey, October? You wanna go shopping?"

With construction finished for the day, Rachel slumped down in her pallet and listened to the  
other girls winding down. Jamie was finishing her nightly spiel of how great the Empire was.  
She had this theory that all the barracks were bugged, so she never skipped an opportunity  
to show just how "reformed" she was.

"If we all just accept our position in life, we can help the Empire to a glorious future. Well,  
in our own small ways. After all, there's not much a woman can do except make her man happier  
so HE can do better right?"

The first night of this, Rachel unleashed on her, but she had grown softer. Now, she was watching  
the kid silently, almost protecting her. After all, Jamie was only ten. Rachel sort of saw her  
as a younger sister.

The younger sister she never had. A family was only allowed two children and since her parents  
had already spawned a daughter, they had "gotten rid" of her younger sister so as to not waste a  
valuable slot for a son to fit into.

The newest girl, however, was having none of it.

"You f'n sellout." The grubby girl in the corner spat out. The room fell silent. Rachel slowly  
raised from her "bed" and stared the young girl down. "What's your name, newbie?"

"Well, not that's any of your damn business, but I'm Dawn. Pleased to meet ya, tough girl."  
Grubby-chick wasn't backing down.

"Ooooh. MIS-take!" One of the veterans yelled.

The others hushed her, not wanting to miss a second of precious entertainment.

"Well, DAWN. You've been here for about three hours. You know shit. In fact, you only know  
the Cliff's Notes of shit. I suggest you lay low and not piss anyone off. Who knows? Maybe  
you'll be the bitch of a nice, lonely General someday."

Dawn wavered a bit.

"You know that's where you're going right? There's only two ways out of this place: On the arm  
of a soldier or at the end of a rope."

Grubby-chick scuffed her old battered sneakers against the dirt floor, making a little notch in  
the ground. "I can take care of myself. If YOU were smart, you'd pay attention to me. I'm  
going places-"

"Yeah, a casket."

Dawn shrugged. "Fine, be ignorant."

Rachel narrowed her eyes, carefully studying this rebel. There was a spark of life in her bright  
green eyes. Something you didn't see much of in a camp. She might just be something useful.

"Take my advice, don't piss off the wrong people around here. You're not the only prisoner with  
an 'agenda'. She raised an eyebrow at Dawn conspiratoraly, then retreated to her pallet, promising  
herself to make nice-nice with the newbie.

She heard a scoff behind her back, then some rustling as Dawn returned to her place in the corner  
and conversation resumed around the barracks.

We'll see how she pans out. Once everything is set in the construction site . . . Yes, we'll  
show those bastards. She rambled to herself, half-asleep. Exausted from the day's "extra" work.

Who knows? Maybe we can get Jamie to come too . . . Then everything will-

Rachel was out for the night.

"Wow, I thought it took a long time for a GIRL to get dressed." Melissa sighed, tapping her  
foot impatiently.

Cassie smiled. They had gone to her parents and used the "cruelty" line to get some money  
for clothes shopping. However, mall management stopped them at the door, explaining that only  
adults were allowed to have slaves in the plaza. So, Ethan was quickly guess-measured for sizes  
and waited outside while Melissa dragged poor Cassie to every clothing store in the mall.

Her parents had only given her a pink slip for fifty dollars, but to Cassie's dismay, Melissa  
offered to pitch in with her weekly slip when the cost got too high.

Which of course meant more shopping.

Now they were pacing outside of her bathroom, waiting for Ethan to finally-

Cassie gasped as the door opened and Ethan stepped through, shyly looking at his feet. He was  
wearing a dark blue polo shirt, tucked in of course, a pair of khakis and a black belt. Cassie  
instantly realized what took so long. He had cut his own hair while he was in the bathroom.

For a moment, he looked like any normal, shy kid. He didn't look like a slave at ALL. Especially  
now that he had styled his hair so that one lock covered his scar. He must have been more self-  
conscious about it then she thought.

With a wince, Cassie admitted to herself that she never really considered his feelings. What he  
had been through. She had promised herself that she'd make him a part of the family, but had  
done nothing to learn who he was since . . . since she asked where he was from . . . since they  
had gone to pick up feed.

Melissa took Cassie abruptly out of her reverie with a pat on the back. "My GOD! We're brilliant!  
He looks just like the Commander!"

Ethan looked off to the side for a moment.

Cassie's eyes widened. Yes, the haircut. Short on the sides, but longer on the top, with the  
bangs off to one side. He looked exactly like Jake. Well, not as broad-shouldered maybe, but  
just as big. If only he was normal-

Melissa finished her thought. "Wow, if he wasn't deaf, he could be the damn Commander." She  
covered her mouth and looked around furtively. If someone heard her say that . . .

Also looking around for witnesses, Cassie grabbed Melissa's shoulder. "You're right. He looks . . .  
normal."

During all this, Ethan was smiling quietly. Since he had seen the fight, which Cassie had explained  
to him later, he had been facinated by the power the Warren commander held. The same age, same height,  
same gender and according to the angry crowd, the same race too.

And yet, Jake had the control of one hundred, fifty seven young soldiers.

Ethan was under the command of one girl. A girl who seemed speechless now.

He wasn't bitter about it. Just . . . intrigued, maybe even curious. If he wasn't deaf, could he  
have that perfect life? Would everyone look at him differently?

Would Cassie?


	9. Jewish Underdog and the Damned Ant

15. The Damn Ant and the Jewish Underdog (Part 1)

Hear No Evil (15)

The wall of glass shimmered against the sliver of sun that was left of the summer day. Traffic  
in the parking lot picked up a bit, just as the street and mall lights sparked to life.

Ethan slumped to the ground beside a crushed cigarette butt. Never leave two girls alone in a  
mall with money, he noted to himself. They were only supposed to pick him up a pair of new shoes  
(which he really didn't want) and then go home. Come on, he still had a whole stack of rusty  
cages left to CLR.

This was really a giant waste of time, Ethan thought. He had a perfectly good pair of black  
velcro sneakers.

Okay, so the soles were held on by staples and a prayer. So the velcro didn't stick on his left  
shoe. So his pinky toe stuck out a little on his right shoe. So what? He had FINALLY broken  
them in!

But no, no, no. The girls (mainly Melissa) would hear none of that.

He blankly stared at an ant crawling into a crack in the sidewalk. Very slowly crawling into a  
crack in the sidewalk. Crawling into a goddamn crack in the goddamn sidewalk.

What the hell was taking them so long? He idly scratched his wrist under the SM box, now  
rendered prongless.

I will NEVER let those two drag me here again, He promised himself. Never, never, nev-

A foot mericilously crushed down onto Ethan's ant. He jumped in surprise and jerked his head up  
to squint at a very serious face, perfectly sillouetted against the setting sun. The dark, brown  
eyes set in that serious face jumped to Ethan's wristband, then rolled in their sockets,  
exasperatedly.

You gonna help me or not, man? he sighed.

After a moment of confusion, Ethan jumped up and grabbed the other end of the enormous table that  
the Warren Commander was balancing under one arm, leaning half of it on the ground behind him.  
The table was grey with a red stripe and had various WYS slogans stenciled onto the surface. The  
Co turned his head to the slave and pointed with his free arm.

I'll go first, just follow my lead. I'm gonna KILL those-

He was cut off from Ethan's vision as he tugged the table towards the mall doors, kicking one  
open and almost ripping the table from Ethan's grip. Luckily, they were both the same height, so  
at least the table wasn't banging against his knees.

They came to a halt at the center plaza of the mall, just before a large, coin-filled fountain.  
Jake dropped his end and waited for the slave to do the same.

He made a looping gesture with his hand. "Okay, now just tilt it and lift that side. I'll duck  
under and release the legs." The slave hesitated, then did as he was told. Jake snapped the two  
legs back into place.

Jake grabbed the slave's shoulder just as he was about to slink away. "Nah, man. There's some  
stuff in the truck I need help with. My guys called in sick."

The slave scratched behind his ear and spoke for the first time. "What about my mistress?"

Jake had to stop himself from laughing. The question was so innocently posed, yet overwhelmingly  
stupid. Who cared about your mistress when a WYS officer was giving you an order?

Jake was lenient, guessing that this guy was probably new to the area. Either that or newly  
disabled. It wasn't uncommon for poor families to injure one of their children and sell them.

He smiled consolingly and released the slave's shoulder. "What's your name, man?"

Warily, he answered. "October Six."

"Alright October, here's an orange pass. Anyone gives you trouble, just whip that out." He  
pointed out the doors. "There's a humvee with an impatient-looking WS Cadre behind the wheel. Get  
as much stuff labeled "concession" as possible from the back of that truck before he leaves."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Just keep your mouth shut and hand out the pamphlets. No one will be able to tell the  
difference." This failed to comfort Ethan much. Here he was, cornered by the commander, stuffed  
into a WYS uniform and handing out recruitment flyers. Did this mean he was working for the  
enemy? Was the WYS his enemy . . . or just it's commander?

He gently tugged at his collar and waved his pamphlet around a bit, trying to draw attention.

"No, no, Bud. You're doing it wrong. Think WYS . . . Like this," Jake slapped a pamphlet into  
the chest of a skinny-looking teen passing by. "The WYS is power. Consider it, man." The kid  
grabbed the flyer and nodded while making haste for the door.

"See, he may be scared now, but later he'll remember and want to scare other people. It's  
sad, but true. I'm just fishing for recruits, plently of time to teach them values AFTER they  
join the regi-"

"Brennen Sie in der Hölle! Im Sohn des Juden und im Hund!"

Jake jerked his head just in time to see two kids display an unpleasant gesture in his direction  
and then make a mad dash for the doors.

He took a deep breath and muttered to himself, "Unterschätzen Sie nie den jüdischen Unterhund."

While personal insult was no real beef to Jake, the idea of them shouting that in a crowded mall . . .  
very bad publicity for the Warren Defenders. Those two would have to be taken down. Publicly.  
But it would be too embassing for a Regimental Commander to chase two idiots around a freakin'  
parking lot.

Besides, this was the last day the WYS would be holding recruitment concession in the Mall. There  
was a schedule to follow, after all. No time to press EVERY jackass down into the dirt.

-------------

Cassie laughed at some obscure remark of Melissa's as they dragged the bags into the plaza. Peering  
through the spray of the fountian, she jerked in suprise. Ethan was inside? And so close to  
the WS recruitment stand.

"Does he have a death wish?" she muttered.

Melissa was stunned all the more. She cursed and whispered, "What the hell is he wearing?"

Cassie's lip curled into an unfamiliar line of disgust as she recognised the blood-red stripes . . .

* * *

End of Chapter 15

* * *


	10. Damned Ant and the Jewish Underdog

* * *

Hear No Evil (10)

* * *

**PART SIXTEEN: **_Damned Ant and the Jewish Underdog_

Completely ignoring the Commander standing beside him, Cassie stormed to Ethan with every  
intention of smacking him upside the head and dragging him home. She remembered herself,  
however and politely grabbed his arm instead. "E- October? Where are the clothes I just  
got you?"

"It's not his fault, Cassie. I made him do it." Jake tried not to look too embarassed, but couldn't  
help blushing at the presense of Melissa. "I was short a man and I wanted to get done in time  
to go to the arcade with Marco.

Cassie blinked and regained her composure. Why the hell was Jake appologising? He never has  
to appologise.

"Well, then next time, use your own slaves. October is private property, protected by law."  
Melissa swallowed before adding, "Even from YOU."

For a moment, Jake was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak. Then stopped.

Having Melissa afraid of me would be seriously counterproductive, he thought carefully. Time  
to swallow a little pride, buddy.

"Cassie, Melissa? It won't happen again. In fact . . ." He reached into his back pocket and  
quickly yanked out a few bills. "Here you are, October." He said, grabbing one of the slave's  
hands and stuffing them in, when October made no move to reach for them himself. "You  
WORKED for me, so here is your due."

Melissa awarded him with half a grin for this. Which was worth a lot more to Jake than a few  
measly bucks. For a full smile, he'd have given the slave his life savings.

After a few meaningless comments about school and pithy references to local news, the group  
fell quiet.

Cassie, feeling betrayed. Although she knew she was unjustified. Which only made her even  
more hurt at the guilt of it all. The boy that she- her slave was wearing the armor of those  
who hated everything she was.

Mellisa, oblivious. Everything was fine. Jake needed some help and did something that was  
wrong. He realized his mistake, appologised and then immediately righted the wrong. That was  
his job as Commander after all.

Jake, at the hormonal and romantic mercy of a girl, who by all rights should be HIS. Someday. . .  
in his home, waiting for him to get out of work. Greeting him at the door.

Ethan, donned in the WYS cloak of power, staring at the cash in his hand as if it were printed  
in an undeciferable language. It was the first time he had ever touched money.

And now, Marco, shadowed by the always lanky and dishevled Tobias.

Marco had a tendency to be fashionably late for everything. So when Jake was first five, then  
fifteen minutes late to meet at the Arcade, Marco simply assumed it was Jake's way of making a  
big point about it all. Bored out of his gourd, it was natural for Marco to start making  
sarcastic comments to anyone who would listen.

That "anyone" being Tobias, who only interrupted one part of Marco's rant (as he was  
mentioning how he'd just as soon let Jake walk home ALONE tonight, shivering in the night in  
fear of the "boogie-man") to simply mention that he was going the same direction as Marco and  
would like to tag along.

Back to the present, Marco quickly took inventory of the situation. What a tense looking group  
THIS was.

Using his perkiest of tones, he called ahead. "Hey Jake! Look what I found!" he indicated  
Tobias trailing behind with a jabbed thumb over his shoulder.

Jake, smearing a fake smile on his face, cheerily greeted Tobias. Sure the guy was totally  
useless socially, but Jake needed every warm body he could get stuffed into a Warren Uniform.  
Already, his Wilton-adjucted regiment was the largest. But to grasp every able-bodied male in  
both areas would absolutely GUARANTEE his position as RCo.

Then he could stop all the punishments. He could stop the hatred and condecension. But for now,  
he had to continue with his duties.

Tobias tripped on a loose floor tile and grabbed Marco just in time to stop himself from doing  
a faceplant.

Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, he noted as he mentally sneered at Tobias's  
absolute physical ineptitude.

"Marco, my man, I was just about to head home. You all ready?" Jake broadly asked the group.

Cassie quickly directed Ethan to the bathroom with his bag of new clothes.

Melissa quirked an eyebrow. "We're all walking home together?"

For a fleeting moment, Jake looked embarassed, but then covered his ass quickly. "Well, see . . .  
It would be ungentlemanly for me to allow you to go alone. Especially if you decide to take  
the shortcut."

Marco came to his buddie's aide. "Yeah, I mean that place is part of the crazy chick Rehab camp.  
Those females could be violent. It'd be smart to have some guys tag along."

Melissa nodded carefully and through gritted teeth replied, "Thank you, Commander. We appreciate  
your assistance."

Cassie noted the dangerous look on her best friend's face. "Yes, you're right. I know I'D like  
to have some guys walk with us." she stammered quickly.

Giving Cassie a sideways look, Jake then turned to Melissa. "Please, call me Jake. Just Jake.  
And it's my pleasure."

As they all turned to leave, Marco grabbed Jake's collar, bringing his ear down to convient  
whispering height. "Careful, don't lay the charm on too thick or you'll seem smarmy."

Jake nodded and mouthed the word, "Thanks."

Ethan, of course, read all of this as he arrived at the rear of the group with an equally quiet  
Tobias. He held the neatly folded WYS Private's uniform in his hands.

Charm? He felt his hackles rise slightly. No, no way.

Jake didn't seem the least bit interested in Cassie. Right?

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. From now on, he'd be watching the bastard even more closely  
than before. He quickly tapped Jake on the shoulder and passed the uniform to him. Jake  
took this without a cursory glance at Ethan.

Ethan returned to the rear and trudged behind the group.

What he wouldn't admit to himself however, was that his hatred of Jake stemmed not from jealosy  
of what Jake had, but of what he was ALLOWED to have.

Oh well. At least the Tobias guy wasn't much of a talker. Looks like it'd be a nice quiet  
walk home. In his new shoes.

* * *

End of Chapter 10

* * *


	11. Who Says You're a Man?

Hear No Evil . . . (17)

The bright yellow of construction vehicles reflected in the street lights. Dimly silhouetted in  
these satellites of color were pyramids of steel beams. From someplace unseen, the sound of  
dripping water echoed across the deserted construction site. Well, that and the shuffling  
footsteps of six teenagers.

The group of mall-crawlers emerged from one bank of trees which surrounded the site like seats in  
an amphitheatre.

"So don't like, sidle up to her or whatever. Girls don't want you pulling the "smooth-daddio"  
thing," Marco whispered into Jake's ear.

"If I don't," Jake replied, wiping the side of his face. "will you stop spitting?"

"Shut up, dude. I'm helping you."

Jake took a deep breath... and a step closer to Melissa.

"Um.. guys? Hi, um... there's- check it out." A timid voice from the back interrupted him.

With a nasty look on his face, the Commander whipped around to view the offender.

"What, dude? What?"

Tobias's mouth opened and shut a few times, no words coming out. Jake immediately felt guilty.

"I didn't mean to snap, I-" He realized that Tobias's arm still pointed straight up. His eyes  
followed the finger's aim-

"Spy plane! We're being attacked!" Jake ran for the nearest cover, a brick wall with large  
holes in it, presumably settings for future windows.

"We're being attacked?" Marco laughed. That is, until he looked up. Soon he was also peeking  
over the windowsill with the five others.

They huddled together, equals in fear. Staring at the bright light in the sky. The light that  
at first was suspiciously too fast and now was suspiciously too slow. Decelerating to the point  
where it hovered hesitantly above the site. And then grew.

"It's getting closer." Marco whispered.

"I can't believe it, I can't believe it..." someone was muttering.

"Primitives with planes!"

Jake hushed them then.

Ethan's mind erratically flashed to his memory of the cement mixer.

The photo of primitives.

I was right, he thought, panicking slightly. They are more advanced than the government says.

"Maybe we should run or something?" Marco said quickly. "I mean, sitting here isn't a very good  
plan."

Jake shook his head. "If we run, they might... I dunno, throw poisoned spears at us or something."

After the hushed, nervous laughter quieted, Marco responded. "Please, Jake. With a weapon like  
THAT thing, they'd THROW SPEARS?" His tone was a bit less hysterical this time as he rolled his  
eyes.

Like he's the expert on primitives. Right, Jake thought, hurt.

They stayed close to the false security of the brick wall. The light became a shadow. About  
the size of a trailer, only oval in shape. Absolutely seamless metal, connected to a menacing  
tail curled over the end.

"That tail thing looks like a weapon," Jake reasoned, trying to redeem his earlier "spear"  
comment.

"Yeah, weapon." Melissa nodded, eyes wide in fear.

The craft touched down without any disturbance to the earth beneath. An oval began to simply  
appear on the right side. An eclipse of light. And inside the eclipse stood a silhouette.

Of Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul. An Andalite champion who surpassed all.

And, by the way, was about to die in five minutes.

Which, sadly, he already knew.

Elfangor surveyed the area with his eyes... well the top two at least. The other set stared  
stoically ahead of him. At the wall these teenagers were hiding behind.

Shaking his head, a habit Elfangor picked up during his last visit to Earth, he descended the  
ramp.

Now to find the time matrix. Wait, that tree wasn't here before...

Elfangor sluggishly trotted between the two trees which were mere saplings when he had first  
dug here, trying his heroic best to ignore the searing pain. The two reminded him vaguely of  
Turkold and Blenish, his favorite trees at home, his mind wandered.

There was still a chance, he thought. If I can just-

He interrupted himself by arcing his tail around and bringing the blade down hard into the  
gravely earth. This move was far more difficult than usual, considering the fatal gash burned  
deep into his flank.

Between the desperate sounds of his thrusts, he could hear a faint scuffling of gravel behind  
him and to the right. Scanning his eyes to the two hundred degree position, he saw human heads  
slowly edging over the top of a nearby brick wall, reminding him of the life forms his Ship's  
Organic Detector had highlighted earlier. Life forms he had ignored in single-mindedness. The  
Matrix was unreachable, he now concluded.

Glancing at the wall again, he breathed deeply.

Another way. There's another way to save this miserable planet.

Tobias popped his head up over the wall. "Hi! Hello there!" he said brightly, waving for  
attention.

Jake's arm reached up and grabbed the top of Tobias's head, thrusting him back down. "Shut up!"  
he whispered, the anger etching his face.

Tobias set his mouth into a fine line. He had a feeling about this creature. Of total safety.  
Did no one else feel this... vibe?

The creature turned his body slowly, clumsily, until Tobias could see a terrible red circle  
on his flank. A burn of some type. The alien faltered and fell between two trees.

Tobias stood and dashed around the wall, before he could be stopped.

"What are you doing, are you insane?" screeched Marco.

"He's hurt!" Tobias yelled over his shoulder, as if that was the only explanation needed.

He stopped suddenly a few feet short of the thing, kicking up gravel.

He started to say something, then stopped. There was no articulate phrase his mind could  
grasp for this sort of situation. "I- I won't hurt you." He offered gently, smiling.

"I know."

Tobias blinked away the tears rapidly. Somehow the creature had spoken inside his mind.

Emotions and images that his overwhelmed brain contorted into English words. Along  
with his words came this incredible feeling of comfort and release. As if Tobias had been  
waiting for this moment forever. He was.

The creature could only be described best as "centaur-like". As if someone had chopped a man in  
half and sewed him onto the decapitated body of a small horse or deer. After dying both portions  
blue first. But with graceful flowing curves that made his visage less gruesome than description  
allowed. His horse body was imbedded in the dirt while he supported his upper body slightly off  
the ground with a weak-looking right arm.

"I'm Tobias." He ventured, for lack of anything better to say.

"I know." The alien repeated. "I am Elfangor."

He had smiled so gently. Had spoken so diplomatically.

Elfangor experienced many dreams of his son. All of them nightmares. On Earth, Tobias was  
likely to be as ruthless and ignorant as the other inhabitants. In his brief time on the planet,  
Elfangor had come to know Loren's people well.

Maybe there was hope. After all, if this place had produced so lovely a creature as Loren,  
Elfangor's wife, perhaps his son had-

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the other teenagers. His son's friends perhaps?

The largest one, a male, stepped in front of Tobias; shielding him.

"What is your business here?" he demanded. The others quietly stood behind him, snatching up  
the generous protection he offered.

"I have come to warn you." Elfangor patiently responded.

A smaller, darker human approached, stepping around the larger, paler one. "You're hurt!" She  
cried. "Someone give me-"

"Quiet Cassie!"

"Jake, he's hurt! Just give me your-"

"No!" The one called "Jake" barked. "For all we know, he's some genetic experiment from-"

"Oh, get over yourself, Jake." Another short one snapped, removing his shirt and handing it  
to Cassie. "Here, Cass. Tear away. I'd like you to note: that's my favorite shirt."

Cassie bit at the collar with her small, white teeth and began to pull on the sleeves.

"No. I will die here. Do not ruin his clothing." Elfangor said dryly, stopping her motions.

"I was just kidding, man, I don't really care."

Elfangor sighed exasperatedly. There was no time for this.

Apparently "Jake" felt the same. "There's no time for this." He shuffled anxiously. "What  
are you HERE for? What do you REALLY want?"

Ethan didn't like this situation one damn bit. There were many questions to ask the blue man.  
But no way to communicate them.

Where was he from? What was his warning?

And why the HELL did he look so familiar?

Having no ambition to step any closer to the menacing ship or the alien's tail blade, Ethan stayed  
a good few meters away. Until Cassie decided to be REALLY stupid and kneel beside the injured  
animal.

Against his will, and all good reason, Ethan's body automatically followed Cassie's. Not that  
anyone noticed. His mind caught up with his body, deciding that if anything was happening  
to Cassie, it'd happen to HIM first. As Jake was slowly becoming irritated and the alien was  
about to respond, Ethan grabbed Cassie's arm and pulled her upright. He cautiously directed her  
away from the alien, just out of tail blade reach.

The others whipped around in surprise, none more surprised than Cassie herself.

Marco shook his head. "Oh man, now is NOT the time for retard to rebel." He gently cooed to  
Ethan as if he were a dog. "Come on now, buddy, let go of your master. No trouble. Be nice,  
now."

Elfangor's right front hoof lifted and his upper body recoiled, almost driving him off-balance  
and fully into the dirt. He recovered in time. "A vecol? I . . . I suppose that's only  
fitting."

"Fitting?" Melissa questioned.

"I am not the only alien on this planet. There are many others with another agenda. Ones which  
I have vowed to protect Earth from... but I am beginning to question my vow." He said with a nasty  
thought-speak chuckle.

"Now just one-"

"There is no time to discuss politics or why I think humans have slowly degenerated into  
despicable beings to the like that become Yeerk role-models. Now is time for you to learn about-"

"Yeerks?"

Elfangor continued as if uninterrupted. "They are parasitic slugs who crawl into your brain and  
capture control of you. They slither in through the ear canal and wrap around every part of  
your cranium. You become a prisoner in your own mind." He sneered insensitively. Anything  
to get through to these children.

They all stood motionless now. Frozen in disbelief and fear.

"But there is something to help you stop them." Elfangor said placatingly, try to strike the  
emotions left by his earlier impatience. "I cannot aid you personally, as I am going to  
be unavailable for combat soon. In my ship there is a box. Blue. Very plain. If you believe  
a word I emit and want to save your own lives, I suggest one of you retrieves it."

Now was the time for command, Jake's chance for authority. He gladly grasped it.

Aliens taking over the world? A weapon to stop them? If this alien was for real, Jake could  
definitely benefit from being the one to push the red button on this weapon. War heroes are  
quite influential.

His face hardened and his spine straightened. "October Six, go get this weapon thing."

Not seeing any motion towards the ship, Jake turned around, the group nicely lined up behind  
him. "I said, get the box, October. Don't make me say it again."

Jake would certainly go in himself, but he was the highest ranking man here. If this thing was  
a trap, the leader is the most important person to protect. Being a slave and, more or less, a  
labor animal, October was simply the most expendable. Right after that waste Tobias, Jake  
mentally smirked.

Now it was one thing to have radical ideas like banning corporal punishments and requiring  
notified reasons for said punishments- but it was quite another to suggest equality.

The Alien was the deciding factor. "Please do as he says, child. There is little time for  
arguments. They will be here soon."

Ethan sucked up his miniscule moment of pride and rebellion. Practically racing up the ramp,  
he quickly found and grabbed the blue cube that could only be the "weapon". He efficiently ignored  
the panels, knickknacks and glowing holograms, in a hurry to complete his task. Just like he  
was trained.

As he exited into the red light-

Wait. The red light?

"Quickly! Give me the cube! We've used too much time!"

Ethan rushed the cube to him. The others were in mid-motion, turning slightly preparing to  
run for it. They had the right idea.

"This cube will give you the power to become any living creature. You can become another human,  
alien, animal, ANYTHING! Touch it quickly for the power to destroy as bears and lions! As  
rhinoceros. To spy as mice. Anything!" He yelled desperately.

"Touch this cube to defend your world, or leave now!"

With no discussion, each deciding in their own minds as quickly as a bat of an eye, they all  
slapped a hand against a side of the cube. All but Ethan.

They shuddered and pulled away. Slowly walking backwards out of the red light, Marco and Jake  
forcing the struggling Tobias. "A final warning! Do not remain in morph for a time exceeding  
two hours. It is very dangerous. You will be trapped as that creature for the remainder of  
your life!"

Nodding quickly, Jake turned and ran for the trees, leaving only Ethan and Cassie behind.

"Come on!" Cassie grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait!" Elfangor cried. "Touch the cube young man."

"It is not my right." Ethan lisped.

In his most human moment, the alien growled. "Like hell it's not!"

Ethan grinned broadly and slammed his hand against the cube. His body tingled like a foot after  
falling asleep.

Reluctantly following Cassie's direction, he gave the Alien a final wave and ducked into the  
darkness of the trees. Running towards home until their lungs were bursting. Until they lost  
the others who had gone in the way of their own places of safety.

And never knowing what happened to Elfangor.

* * *


	12. Concussive Illusions and Beer Stank

Hear No Evil . . . (18)

* * *

Brief memories of running. Past street lamps and darkened store windows. Tiring and slowing. Panting. Into the animal-stench of his home. Climbing the ladder to his hayloft, the safety of warm blankets and a soft pillow lulling him to sleep. 

Ethan rolled and grunted at the gentle poke to his side. Through bleary eyes, he saw that

it was now dawn and the awakening poke was from Cassie's finger.

Ethan? He lip-read. Are you awake yet?

He nodded and sat up, stretching his cramped muscles and brushing off the hay clinging to his shirt, damp from night-sweat. With the aching muscles came the rush of memories. No longer tired, Ethan whipped off his blanket and in a spray of straw grabbed Cassie by the shoulders.

"Is it real? Is it?" he released a stunned Cassie and fell back onto the pile.

* * *

THE JANE AUSTIN MEMORIAL RE-EDUCATION CAMP 

With a gasp and prick of pain, Rachel's eyes traced the path of trickling blood down past her palm onto her wrist. Her hand formed a fist, clutching the tattered cloth and slammed it to the surface of the table in front of her.

She muttered a curse, "I am never sewing again. I don't care." her voice rose with each word. "Screw you guys, NO MORE stitching!"

She felt, then saw, the hipbone of a guard pressing into her side. "No more?" Rachel sighed and hung her head. "That's not the attitude you should have, young lady!" The guard turned to smile and verify to the other guards that he was just as much a sadist shit as them.

The others complied, smiling, leering... one even giving a thumbs up.

He grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her out the chair, not without the cursory kick to the shin.

* * *

Regimental Commander Jake Berenson was late for drill for the first time in his career. It was overlooked, of course and he drifted through the motions of leadership in a daze. The assimilation of Wilton Regiment was going better than last weekend, at least. Jake silently thanked his brother for teaching him the proper way to run things.

Warren County White Youth Regiment was distinctive in the delegation of leadership. Each solider was trained to take over the job of the man above him. So even the lowly private was qualified to run a platoon anywhere else. This rid Jake of the constant babysitting which would otherwise be required. It was common belief that ignorance bred obedience. Lack of intelligence meant lack of will.

However, Warren could run quite smoothly for a long time even if their Commander was not present. Jake utilized that advantage by sitting in his office, a desk in the Unit Administrator's area. See Jake was a great leader, albeit, he admitted to himself, a little less than humble. But that was good. If a man can recognize his weaknesses, all the better he know his strengths, Jake reasoned.

Cmmdr. Berenson had something more important to do than join in the daily exercises and supervise the blocks of instruction proceeding throughout the day. See, it was the weekend. Moreover, if he wanted to get his new squad together, brief them and then head out to the Gardens... well, might as well start planning it now.

First, he would call Marco and head somewhere neutral, away from their parents. He'd test out this new "morphing" magic personally. Then after he had made sure it was safe, Jake would call the others and gather. Order them to morph too. Make sure they know that he would protect and care for them like all of his soldiers. And also like his soldiers, he would demand obedience and versatility.

Yes, he chuckled to himself. With me as their new commander, they'll get creative real quick.

* * *

Cassie and Ethan had puttered about the barn. Except for the assurance that neither were crazy, they had not spoken in hours. After finishing daily chores, both traveled up to Cassie's room to enjoy the cool air rising from the root cellar and clean up a bit inside.

Half way through a pile of fresh laundry, Cassie's mother popped her head through the door.

"Hey Cassie- Oooohh!" She grinned. "I see you two are catching up on some cleaning?"

Cassie faked a grin, "Yeah, Mom." she weakly replied. "Just getting some weekend work in."

Was her own mother one of those things? Was there a Yeerk here forcing her mother to smile nervously?

Her mother nodded and looked at Ethan, then back to Cassie. "Um, when you get finished, why don't you get him all spiffed up like you had him a couple days ago. Your father and I have- uh, a surprise." With that, she was gone.

Ethan tucked the legs of the pants he was folding and twisted his eyebrows at Cassie. She shrugged and started rummaging through the closet.

With a sigh, he tapped her on the shoulder and began shuffling clothes also. Making it clear to her that he'd prefer to dress himself. While he didn't consider himself to be vain, Ethan knew of the adage that clothes "make the man." Dreamily, his mind drifted back to that day at the mall...

* * *

_Ethan methodically handed out fliers, always watching Jake from the corner of his eye. His mind drifting to time spent in the warehouse. Reciting the lessons illegally given to him. In a bi-lingual country, it was still radical to teach slaves German. Not that they didn't pick it up on their own however._

_The soldiers had implied that Jake was the son of a Jew and a Dog. Or a bitch. _

_"Hey, I'll take one of those fliers. Hey. Hello?" The kid tapped Ethan's shoulder, breaking him from his reverie. _

_"Oh, sorry. Here." Ethan focused and spoke slowly to keep his voice clear. Seeing how Jake was standing firmly, feet planted, Ethan straightened his posture and squared his shoulders._

_"He said 'Don't underestimate me' and something about a son-dog or underdog'" Ethan muttered in sign language, hand twitching. He could be like that. If Jake was Jewish and managed to get commander . . . what the hell was stopping Ethan?_

* * *

Walter and Michelle were patiently waiting at the dinner table. A pot of something

spicy bubbled on the stove.

Cassie's mother cleared her throat. "Honey, your father and I were discussing what you had said to us the day we gave you responsibility over Ethan," she stated calmly. "And we want you to know that we're both very proud of you."

Walter chimed in, "While what you said was dangerous and never should be repeated

Outside this house-" He paused and waited patiently for his wife to bestow the "mom's look of utter seriousness" upon Cassie. "Which you'd better NOT... it made us feel a bit ashamed of ourselves."

"We most certainly know that slavery is wrong, Cassie," (mother's name) clarified. "But if we're to stay afloat it's a necessary evil."

Still working the Parental A-Team act, Cassie's father removed his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt. "What we're getting at is that we decided to, well ask Ethan if he'd like to join us at the dinner table tonight. As a family."

He blushed a bit. "Your mom's making chili," he offered.

Sitting beside him, Cassie's mom gave Ethan a little wave, waggling her eyebrows.

Ethan made a short chuckling sound and nodded.

As the newly minted illegal family unit set the table, the phone rang in the kitchen. Walter picked up the receiver, listening with a comically confused expression on his face.

"Uh, yeah. See, she's just sitting down for dinner. But I'll tell her you called."

He slowly hung up and turned to Cassie.

"Hon, why in the world is Jake Berenson calling you?"

* * *

The pounding in Rachel's head had almost faded. The man across from her remained completely motionless. In the haze, she wondered if he was even real or simply a concussive illusion. 

"I've been watching you for a while." His voice was flat. Dead. Emotionless.

The Educator pulled his chair out from the desk slowly and with a slight groan.

Rachel smiled, knowing it was her well-placed foot that had caused his discomfort. Yup, he was real all right. Had the bruised nuts to prove it, she chuckled quietly.

Catching her moment of mirth, The Educator eyes narrowed. He tugged the front of

his shirt down as he stood, smoothing the wrinkles. Rounding the desk, he sat on the corner, casually crossing ankle over knee.

They stared at each other in silence for what seemed like eternity. Neither willing to bend to the other. He was waiting for her to speak first, Rachel realized. To beg him for liency.

Well... not fuckin' likely.

After a long moment of consternation, The Educator took the time to search for his cigarettes and lighter- and his composure.

Rachel used the bought time to examine her interrogator, torturer and, most likely, future

murderer.

He was tall and lean, blonde and blue-eyed. The picture of Aryan dominance. What one might call a poster child. Was probably spoon-fed Imperial propaganda the second his lips were ripped off his momma's tit, she thought with a sneer.

On the other hand, with her similar appearance, she was tied to a fuckin' chair.

"So I suppose this is where you teach me a lesson... ra-" she didn't finish the sentence.

But he knew what she was going to say and reeled back, appalled "Are you kidding me?" he snarled. "You can't be more than thirteen years old! I'm a prison officer, not a child molester."

Rachel kept her mouth shut on that one.

"Now the reason you are here is that little scene during class today." He pulled a sheet of paper of the desk. "No more stitching?" He sighed and put on hand on his knee. "Granted, stitching is an archaic practice- However! It is your duty as a female of the White race to maintain and repair. Just as it is my job as a White male to provide and rule."

He slowly slid off his chair and walked towards Rachel.

"Now, you're this close to the gallows." he made a gesture with two fingers. "And while you may be fine with that, I am not. Although your background states some Jewish relations, you yourself have clean blood and fine features. Eliminating you would be a waste. Unfortunately, you're too young to marry off and chances are your mouth will get you killed before you reach marriage age anyway."

Rachel choked back her rage as her mind tried to sort this information. What was he getting at?

"I need my host... I need to gain more power. To advance to a higher echelon in this society. But only married males are allowed to become upper officers."

"Host?" Rachel thought, confused.

The interrogator's tough-guy demeanor faded, as he seemed to be pleading his case.

"I have the education, the background, the years of duty and good standing... now all I need is the wife." he whined.

Emboldened by his show of weakness, Rachel spoke. "What the hell? Are you proposing? You said yourself, I'm too young to marry."

"No, YOU said it yourself. There's only two ways out of here." he threw the words back at her.

So the barracks were bugged, just as Jamie thought.

"I'm proposing a deal." He placed his free hand upon her bound one. "Between two creatures who are both in a bind."

* * *

Tobias's parents had been gone for a long time. Though there were many different versions told to him by relatives, one thread was constant in each lie. 

His father had left, his mother was retarded.

Not wanting to see a healthy baby go into slave hood, they had so nobly rescued him from that fate.

So they could have a free slave of their own. Shifted between Uncle and Aunt, each taking their share of his labor. He remembered a time when he was thin and weak, which kept him shy today, but it was impossible for him not to notice the changes.

The face in the mirror no longer so gaunt and hungry, his body responded quickly and his muscles did not burn when strained like they used to. No, he was no weakling. He knew all that he lacked was up in the noggin, not the vessel.

Rubbing the knot in his shoulder, Tobias swung his legs down off the couch onto the floor. Of course, since the springs were broken, this caused him to sink down into the black hole of a cushion, thrusting both his feet into the air.

He muttered a curse to himself and struggled out onto the living room floor- or more specifically, onto a spine-bruising bottle on the living room floor. With a groan of pain, he leapt to his feet in excitement, forgetting the couch, the bottle, the crappy apartment and his child-abandoning parents all in a moment.

Because last night, he had met an alien. And it wasn't out to destroy the human race. Bonus.

But now he had a purpose where one wasn't before.

"Elfangor" he said aloud, voice laden with respect.

Elfangor was his name. He had given Tobias an actual meaning in life besides surviving. An opportunity to fight for something that others took for granted.

Pride. Honor. Dignity. Purpose.

All those he had been denied and all those he was given in one conversation with Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul. The one person on Earth that didn't make him want to bury himself in a hole and it wasn't even a human.

Snores from a nearby room informed him that Uncle Assface was still asleep. The beer stank wafted in and out of his nasal passages with each pass of the oscellating fan.

"Don't worry, Elfangor," Tobias looked down at his hands which now held the power to become an animal and save the human race. "I won't waste your death."

Now to find that cat...

* * *

End of Chapter Eighteen (18) 


	13. Infinite Voices and Cold Sun

* * *

Hear No Evil . . .

* * *

**PART NINETEEN: **_Infinite Voices and the Cold Sun_

Marco snorted, "You're kidding, right?"

"Look we have to test this out and options are limited," Jake sighed. "Just touch it already."

The caterpillar raced across his fingers, so Jake had to turn his hands over and over to keep it from escaping to the carpet. They were in his room, on the second story of his house. Marco was sprawled back on Jake's bed near the far wall, one leg flat, the other balancing on the windowsill. He hadn't slept last night and was on Jake's stoop at dawn.

Jake still didn't know how Marco managed to charm his way past Jake's sleep-deprived father, but knew he had a way with words.

"Buddy," Marco said slowly."There is no way you're going to get me to be a caterpillar."

Feeling a bit embarrassed and not willing to show it, Jake spun in his chair. With a quick flip, the caterpillar was tossed into the desk drawer nonchalantly. Facing Marco, he folded his arms over his chest and said, "What's wrong with it?"

"Jake, this is stupid." Seeing his hurt look, Marco conceded a bit. "Sorry, man. But we need something a bit saner. That's a freaking caterpillar." He let his other leg thud to the bed for emphasis.

Jake nodded. "Oh okay, got a bird or a squirrel on you?" he sarcasmed. Neither he nor Marco had pets and both lived in the suburbs. They had already planned to group with the others later, but it was still early and Jake was eager to morph. He didn't want to be the last person to try out their new powers.

Marco gave him a wry look. "How about we do something less terrifying now and then get some cool animals later?"

Jake's jaw tightened. He had been thinking of Marco and the others as new recruits. Another group of child soldiers. He felt stupid. He should have known that his best friend would have an opinion, not just follow blindly. But that was okay, Jake thought.

_This is my equal._

"How about you morph me?" The words were out before he thought them through clearly. Jake simply reacted with whatever seemed to be simplest, once again, not looking before he leaped.

After all, he just suggested Marco_ become_ him.

Marco swung both feet around and sat up. "That's fine," he nodded. "It'd be just to test the technology. See how this morphing thing works." He stood up and held his hand out to Jake for a moment before pulling it back. "Wait, should I put some of your clothes on or something?" He plucked a piece of his shirt. "Think mine will tear?"

Jake chuckled. It was the same shirt Marco was wearing last night that Elfangor had saved. "You might get a 'wedgie', but I'm not that big." He rose, took Marco's hand and waited.

"Now what?"

Jake skewed his eyebrows in thought. "I think it's controlled through willpower," he said, his tone now more serious.

Marco shrugged. "So we should just try to concentrate on becoming the thing."

Then Jake and Marco focused on each other. With a loud CRUNCH! which resonated through his spine, Jake's leg bones shortened suddenly. "Whoa!" For a moment, he stopped the morph, but then pushed on, calming himself. He tuned out Marco's voice.

"How's the weather down there?" Marco laughed. "Oh boy, you know how many times I've heard _that _one."

_That's Marco,_ Jake smiled, _Always trying to make people laugh. _He looked at his hands and skin, then ducked to try and catch his reflection off a plaque on the wall.

Morphs completed, their bodies stopped shifting. "So are we superheros yet?" Marco asked. He looked down at his newer, more impressive self.

Jake shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. Marco's body seemed to have a natural kink in the right shoulder that just wouldn't relax. He stared into Marco's eyes... _his_ eyes actually. "It's like hearing yourself on tape," he said, raising a hand to Marco's arm muscle. "It's like, 'Dude, I actually _look_ like that?'"

"You look handsome, by the way. My body really becomes you," Marco smirked, then grunted and pulled at his pant leg. "You were right about the wedgie, man."

* * *

Ethan rolled in the grass and leaves floor of the forest. Autumn now, it was really more leaves. He yawned. 

Cassie was still up the tree, of course. She had already morphed everything caged in the barn and then dragged him out to hunt for any furry, cute thing that she could charm into letting her touch it. He still had yet to use his power. Ethan was none too eager to join this fight.

_For what? So I can walk ahead of the group and be their "mine detector?"_ He could expect no less from Jake.

He checked the watch left in Cassie's pile of clothes. She still had one hundred minutes left. He knew she would use up every second. Not only did she enjoy being each animal, she would rant in his mind a veterinarian's spiel of animal facts she had memorized and how amazing it was to experience it in the flesh. The thought speak was a perfect communication tool. Every time she 'said' something, pictures and thoughts would rise in his mind. As if he said the words himself or was seeing Cassie's inspiration and visual interpretation. He simply _knew_ what she was saying.

Peering through the trees overhead, boredom combined with fatigue claimed their victim. He rolled once and was asleep.

* * *

_On the plateau again. He had never had a dream recur so often, before. Now he was alone. The floating square of Earth was instead a hard-wood floor. _

_A voice came from all around. Above and below and inside, bass pounding in his chest. For a moment he feared heart arrhythmia from the shock and resonance._

**Hello,**_ the voice said conversationally, like at a picnic._

"Hey" _Ethan shrugged and responded. Strange, it was the first time he ever had a dream where he knew it was only a dream._

**We are called "the Ellimist". We have come to you in your dreams, uninvited...**

_Ethan quirked an eyebrow. "Right. This is different. First time I've dreamt of you, Mr. Ellimist."_

_A chuckle surrounded him, invaded him._

**I have been in your dreams for months now. I apologize for any unwelcome invasiveness. It was absolutely necessary to us, however, that you understand our trust and commitment in you.**

_"What are you?"_ _He shakily asked, a little less cocky now. _

_

* * *

_

**I am the Ellimist,** the voice repeated.

Ethan opened his eyes. Once again, he lay prone on the forest floor, staring at the endless sky through the forest canopy above. Conscious, but unable to move! He tried to kick his limbs, but even wiggling his toes was impossible. Was he awake?

**I may soon seem infinitely powerful to you, but I have a terrible enemy. An unlimited criminal who would like nothing more than the destruction of all life in the universe.**

The vision continued. Standing above him, as if from empty air, appeared an old man. His robes, which looked more like differently colored sheets, hung around him in threads with an illusion of poverty. His ears were slightly pointed at the tips and his beard hung just past his collarbone. He spoke, not with his former infinite voice, but with the silent lip movements that Ethan had long become accustomed to, "Many things shall rest on your shoulders. Very soon, indeed, Ethan."

_What? Why are you here?_ He thought he asked.

"I needed to gain your trust." The old man pointed at the bandana wrapped on Ethan's brow.

Cassie's mother had handed him it without any ceremony, but one nervous look from Cassie, at the time, told him this was a significant gift. In fact, his dream of a similar bandana was his primary reason for approaching Cassie at the state fair. Ethan's other dreams flashed in his mind. She was there. Before he even knew her. Jake's form materialized. That friend of his, Marco or Macro or something. Some blonde girl.

He tried to holler for Cassie's help, but his throat no longer vibrated on command. Waving his arms did nothing, as they lay still at his sides. Imprisoned, restricted! Even though he was surrounded by trees and open area, the inability to move triggered his claustrophobic instinct. Deny as he might, it was in every human to require at least five square feet of space for sanity.

"I am only holding you for a moment, be calm." The old man smiled. "I visited you in your sleep, so you would be where you are now." He raised his hands up, "Are you happy where you are?"

So much information to process in a matter of hours. The invasion of Earth by parasitic aliens, being invited into Cassie's family as her equal, the discovery of a belated ally in the 'Andalites', the disorganization, Cassie changing animals like sandals. Now some . . . creature had been disturbing his dreams. Inflicting nightmares upon him without his knowledge.

_This place is better than where I was_, he admitted, silently. _Until last night._

"There is a better place," the Ellimist replied, "A place so far from here, you could never reach it. While it is not a perfect world, freedom and happiness are much more abundant there."

_If I can never reach it, why should I care?_ Ethan tried to ask. Not with his frozen lips or even through thought speak. It was just a prevalent question in his mind. The Ellimist answered as if he had spoken it aloud.

"I have other warriors in this other place. They are on the brink of failure. If they fall, this is how the world shall be forever. As it has always been for you. While I cannot help you in any way, I can tell you, Ethan, you are our hope. If my other warriors fail and this becomes 'Ultimate Reality' than I need to insure the possibility of this world joining my others. Becoming peaceful and democratic. You are the best hope of making this planet docile."

Ethan barely shook his head. Wordlessly negative. "You expect me to do something on a world-wide scale? Because I can morph into a raccoon?" He tried to express the absolute futility of his situation to the Ellimist.

The Ellimist took a floating step forward, increasing Ethan's panic. Before reaching him, however, the Ellimist simply dematerialized until he was naught but a disembodied voice again.

**I expect you to realize that if the others succeed, you will cease to exist. I expect you to know there is nothing you can do to sabotage their fight. I expect you to do with this information what I already know you shall do.**

After waiting a bit for more, he knew the old man was really gone. Or at least, not speaking anymore, which was just as good. His limbs were able and strong, once again. Ethan decided that to tell even Cassie about this would be just stupid. Who would believe the crazy, nervous, aftereffects of his dream?

The branches above him rustled as Cassie perched on a particularly thin one, which bounced under her weight. Hey there! she giggled with exhilaration. So are you ready to try one out now, Ethan? What would you like to morph first?

He struggled to his feet and grinned up at her, covering his recent anxiety. "I don't know." He remembered Cassie's first demorphing experience. "How about something small? Just in case I don't get the hang of clothes right away."

She laughed. In that case, I suggest bird. She peered at the open sky and sighed, Oh, Ethan, you're going to love it!

"Cassie? Cassie!" Her father's voice rang out over the acres of her family's farm.

Oh no! She darted to the ground and began to demorph. Ethan, hurry up there and tell my dad... uh, something! she tripped over her rapidly growing talons.

He nodded, accepting her orders and raced up the hill. At the border of trees, he could see clearly across the brilliant grass to the barn where Cassie's father was searching. Walter peered into the barn. "Cassie?"

"Down here, Sir!" Ethan called, waving.

Walter shook his head and laughed. "Oh, so she has you down there playing 'animals' with her now?" Ethan hid a smile. Cassie's father had no idea how close to the truth that was.

Cassie emerged from the dark, fully human and with a strange choice of clothing. "Hi Dad!" She smiled and darted her eyes nervously. "We weren't goofing off, I swear." she pushed to make her voice sound natural.

Walter pulled out the broom he was hiding behind his back and grinned in mock evil. "It's a perfectly good day out, be a shame for you kids to waste it. Get on up here."

* * *

Four o'clock rush hour. The cold sun beat down, luring pedestrians to dress lightly. But all it warmed was the pavement as an autumn breeze stole the promised heat. Proudly, the shorts and t-shirt clad traveled the streets as others sat on their porches, smoking and watching the cars blow by. 

Bowing his head, he stretched his paws before him, every movement, every smell drawing his attention. Anything that breathed within fifty yards was identified, prioritized and ultimately ignored. After all, there's not much out there that will impress a cat.

Tobias's powers were being wasted, crouched next to the alleyway dumpster, not much to smell there. But the last thing he needed was to be shot and scooped up by the dogcatcher. With one last, reluctant, deep breath through feline nostrils, he slinked behind the dumpster and demorphed.

He stayed ducked down even after he was completely human. Whipping his clothes out of the stashed bag, he shivered from the cold and put them on. He wished he could stay a cat forever. Find some nice house to sleep the day away in.

Tobias scoffed at his own delusion and stepped out into the sun, heading for Jake's house._ If anyone knew what to do now, it'd be Jake_, he thought.

He ignored the stares from porch monkeys as he passed them, keeping his head down as always.

Tobias never liked too much attention. His nature was to keep quiet, stay in the back, out of the radar. It was an obvious conclusion to him. When he knew that someone was depending on him, when he knew he was being watched, judged, he failed. Again and again. Something about the scrutiny made his hands shake, his brain confused and nervous. Just about the only skill he had developed during the years was his artwork- it was one of the few after-school hobbies he could perform without an audience.

Now he was falling back into his simple pattern. Go to Jake. He'll know what to do. Follow him. Don't look like an idiot,_ please_, don't look like an idiot.

"Tobias?"

Ugh.

Tobias looked up to see Melissa Chapman across the street. She waved and hurried through a break in the traffic.

"Hey Tobias, I thought that was you!" Melissa smiledwhen she reachedhim.

"Yeah, uh hey."

"What are you up to on this fine afternoon?" she asked cheerily. Apparently she was one of those who preferred to ignore the thirty degree temperatures and concentrate instead on the clear sky of a bright day.

Tobias was truly unsure how to respond. Now he wasn't a complete social recluse, but he did limit himself in not making light conversation with anyone. He really didn't know anyone here, save Cassie and Marco. He'd been shuttled between one Uncle and another since his father died and his mother was executed, leaving him with broken or interrupted friendships.

"Well . .." he hesitated. What did she care what he was doing? Oh yes, she probably was only interested in him as pertaining to the alien invasion occurring under the world's nose.

"I was just about to head over to Jake's," he recovered. "I, uh- " he lowered his voice and leaned closely, confiding. "I was a cat about five minutes ago."

"Really? So was I!" she whispered back. Melissa didn't pull away, despite how close Tobias was leaning. After the extreme emotion of last night, he felt a little guilty for enjoying her proximity.

_Pathetic,_ he groused to himself. _First girl who willingly gets within smelling distance of you and you turn into mush. Cowboy up, man._

If Melissa was disconcerted by his sudden, awkward silence, she didn't show it.

"I guess Jake's house is as good as any to start. Let's go!" she touched his hand for a moment, as if she meant to grab it, then chastely pulled away. She giggled. "Sorry, don't know what I was thinking."

Tobias blushed. "It's nothing." he shrugged and started walking, Melissa by his side.

Melissa hid her disappointment. Tobias had been so brave the night before. Ignoring Jake's orders and rushing to help an alien creature that could have destroyed him. But all that was gone now and he was running to Jake for help again.

She watched Tobias through her peripheral vision. His shoulders were slumped and he was staring at the pavement as it passed under their feet. Though she hated the idea of going to Jake's house, knowing it would only serve to support his ego, she really couldn't think of anything better to do. So instead of scrutinizing Tobias's decision, she patted his back on a whim.

Tobias jumped a bit at her touch and whipped his head towards her in surprise. Then he gave her a crooked smile and tried to act cool.

Melissa forced a smile. "Don't worry, Jake will know what to do."

* * *

End of Chapter

* * *

A/N: Fear not, there shall be no J/M slash in this fic. 


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